luaiuumuuiiuii 


iiSM 


The  Clock 
burton. 
Vicomte 
Dumas, 
Clarissa,  b 
Pamela,  b; 
Sir  Chas.G 
Lewis  Aru 
Frank  Fail 


By  Lord 
Pelham. 

Paul  Cliffr 

Eugene  At 

Last  Days 
Rienzi. 

Leila,  and 
the  Rhir 
Last  of  the 
Ernest  Ma 
Alice;  or,  t 
N ght  and 
Godolphin 
Disowned. 

Devereux. 

The  Caxtons. 

My  Novel,  2 vols. 
Lucretia. 

Harold. 

Zanoni. 

What  will  He  Do 
with  It?  2 vols. 

A Strange  Story. 

The  Coming  Race. 
Kenelm  Chillingly. 
The  Parisians,  2 vols. 
Falkland  and  Zicci. 
Pausanias. 

By  JAMESGRANT. 
Romance  of  War. 

The  Aide-de-Camp. 
Scottish  Cavalier. 
Bothwell. 

Jane  Seton. 

Philip  Rollo. 

Legends  of  the  Black 
Watch. 

Mary  of  Lorraine. 
Oliver  El  •is. 

Lucy  Arden. 


Tl  B R A R_  Y 

OF  THE 

U N I VERS  1TY 
Of  ILLINOIS 

623 

Y£7w 

1879 


ed'ley. 
Smedley. 
>y  Dumas. 

, by  ditto, 
prs,  and 
iy  Dumas. 
Dumas, 
tnti  mental 


-enstem. 

her. 

L 

hms. 
its  Con- 

:ton. 

undy. 


The  Girl  He  Married. 
Lady  Wedderburn’s 
Wish. 

Jack  Manly. 

Only  an  Ensign. 
Adventures  of  Rob  Roy 
Under  the  Red  Dragon 
The  Queen’s  Cadet. 
Shall  I Win  Her  ? 
Fairer  than  a Fairy. 
The  Secret  Dispatch. 
One  of  the  Six  Hun- 
dred. 

Morley  Ashton. 

Did  She  Love  Him  ? 
The  Ross-shire  Buffs. 

By  G.  P.  R.  JAMES. 

The  Brigand. 

Morley  Ernstein. 

Darn  ley. 

Riche’ieu. 

The  Gipsy. 

Arabella  Stuart. 

The  Woodman. 
Agincourt. 


bsand. 

The  Smuggler.  • 
Heidelberg. 

The  Forgery. 
Gentleman  of  the  Old 
School. 

Philip  Augustus. 

The  Black  Eagle. 
Beauchamp. 

Arrah  Neii. 

Sir  W.  SCOTT. 
Waverley. 

Guy  Mannering. 

Old  Mortality. 

Heart  of  Midlothian. 
Rob  Roy. 

Ivanhoe. 

The  Antiquary. 

Bride  of  Lammermoor. 
Black  Dwarf  and 
Legend  of  Montrose . 
The  Monastery. 

The  Abbot. 
Kenilworth. 

The  Pirate. 

Fortunes  of  Nigel. 
Peveril  of  the  Peak, 


Published  by  George  Routledge  and  Sons. 


I 


TWO  SHILLING  BOOKS,  continued . 


•'  Quentin  Durward. 

St  Ronan’s  Well. 

Red  Gauntlet. 
Betrothed  and  High- 
land Widow. 

The  Talisman  and 
Two  Drovers. 
Woodstock. 

Fair  Maid  of  Perth. 
Anne  of  Geierstein. 
Count  Robert  of  Paris. 
Surgeon’s  Daughter. 

By  Mrs.  GORE. 
The  Money  Lender. 
Pin  Money. 

The  Dowager. 

Mothers  & Daughters. 
Cecil. 

The  Debutante. 

W.  H.  MAXWELL. 
Stories  of  Waterloo. 
Brian  O’ Lynn. 

Captain  Blake. 

The  Bivouac. 

Hector  O Halloran. 
Captain  O’Sullivan. 
Stories  of  the  Penin- 
sular War. 

Flood  and  Field. 
Sports  and  Adventures 
in  the  Highlands. 
Wild  Sports  in  the 
West. 

THEODORE  HOOK 

Peregrine  Bunce. 
Cousin  Geoffry. 

Gilbert  Gurney. 
Parson’s  Daughter. 

All  in  the  Wrong. 
Widow  and  Marquess. 
Gurney  Married. 

Jack  Brag. 

Maxwell. 

Man  of  Many  Friends. 
Passion  and  Principle. 
Merton. 

Gervase  Skinner. 
Cousin  William. 
Fathers  and  Sons. 
Author  of  “ Guy 
Livingstone.” 

Guy  Livingstone. 
Barren  Honour. 


Maurice  Dering. 
Brakespeare. 

Anteros. 

Breaking  a Butterfly. 
Sans  Merci. 

Sword  and  Gown. 
EDMUND  YATES. 
Running  the  Gauntlet. 
Kissing  the  Rod. 

The  Rock  Ahead. 
Black  Sheep. 

A Righted  Wrong. 
The  Yellow  Flag. 
Impending  Sword. 

A Waiting  Race. 
Broken  to  Harness. 
Two  by  Tricks. 

A Silent  Witness. 

H.  KINGSLEY. 
Stretton. 

Old  Margaret. 

The  Harveys. 

Hornby  Mills. 

Capt.  ARMSTRONG 
The  Two  Midshipmen. 
The  Medora 
The  War  Hawk. 
Young  Commander. 

By  Capt.  CHAMIER. 
Life  of  a Sailor. 

Ben  Brace. 

Tom  Bowling. 

Jack  Adams. 

HENRY  COCKTON. 
Valentine  Vox. 

Stanley  Thorn. 

By  G.  R.  GLEIG. 
The  Light  Dragoon. 
Chelsea  Veterans. 

The  Hussar. 

By  Mrs.  CROWE. 
Night  Side  of  Nature. 
Susan  Hopley. 

Linny  Lockwood. 

ALEX.  DUMAS. 
The  Half  Brothers. 
Marguerite  de  Valois. 
The  Mohicans  of  Paris. 
A.  B.  EDWARDS. 
The  Ladder  of  Life. 
My  Brother’s  Wife. 
Half  a Million  of 
Money. 


By  Miss  FERRIER. 

Marriage. 

The  Inheritance. 
Destiny. 

By  FIELDING, 

Tom  Jones. 

Joseph  Andrews. 
Amelia. 

By  GERSTAEKER. 
A Wife  to  Order. 

The  Two  Convicts. 
Feathered  Arrow. 
Each  for  Himself. 

By  LANG. 

Will  He  Marry  Her? 
The  Ex-Wife. 

CHAS.  LEVER. 
Arthur  O’Leary. 

Con  Cregan. 

By  S.  LOVER. 
Rory  O’ More. 

Handy  Andy. 

By  MAYNE  REID. 
The  Quadroon. 

The  War  Trail. 

By  Captain  NEALE. 
The  Lost  Ship. 

The  Captain’s  Wife. 
Pride  of  the  Mess. 

Will  Watch. 
Cavendish. 

The  Flying  Dutchman. 
Gentleman  Jack. 

The  Port  Admiral. 
The  Naval  Surgeon. 
ALBERT  SMITH. 
Marchioness  of  Brin- 
villiers. 

Adventures  of  Mr. 
Ledbury. 

Scattergood  Family. 
Christopher  Tadpole. 
The  Pottleton  Legacy. 

By  SMOLLETT. 
Roderick  Random. 
Humphrey  Clinker. 
Peregrine  Pickle. 

Mrs.  TROLLOPE. 
Petticoat  Government. 
One  Fault. 

Widow  Barnaby. 
Widow  Married. 
Barnabys  in  America. 
The  Ward. 

Love  and  Jealousy. 


Published  by  George  Routledge  and  Sons. 


2 


NOVELS 

The  Clockmaker,  by  Judge  Hali- 
burton. 

Vicomte  de  Bragelonne,  by 
Dumas,  2 vols. 

Clarissa,  by  Richardson. 

Pamela,  by  Richardson. 

Sir  Chas.Grandison,by  Richardson 
Lewis  Arundel,  by  Smedley. 
Frank  Fairlegh,  by  Smedley. 


AT  2s.  6d. 

Harry  Coverdale,  by  Smedley. 
The  Colville  Family,  by  Smedley. 
Monte Cristo,  complete,  by  Dumas. 
Memoirs  of  a Physiciau,  by  ditto. 
The  Three  Musketeers,  and 
Twenty  Years  After,  by  Dumas. 
Taking  of  the  Bastile,  by  Dumas. 
Tristram  Shandy,  and  Sentimental 
Journey,  by  Sterne. 


By  Lord 

Pelham. 

Paul  Clifford. 

Eugene  Aram. 

Last  Days  of  Pompeii . 
Rienzi. 

Leila,  and  Pilgrims  of 
the  Rhine. 

Last  of  the  Barons. 
Ernest  Maltravers. 
Alice;  or,  the  Mysteries 
N ght  and  Morning. 
Godolphin. 

Disowned. 

Devereux. 

The  Caxtons. 

My  Novel,  2 vols. 
Lucretia. 

Harold. 

Zanoni. 

What  will  He  Do 
with  It?  2 vols. 

A Strange  Story. 

The  Coming  Race. 
Kenelm  Chillingly. 
The  Parisians,  2 vols. 
Falkland  and  Zicci. 
Pausanias. 

By  JAMESGRANT. 
Romance  of  War. 

The  Aide-de-Camp. 
Scottish  Cavalier. 
Bothwell. 

Jane  Seton. 

Philip  Rollo. 

Legends  of  the  Black 
Watch. 

Mary  of  Lorraine. 
Oliver  El*is. 

Lucy  Arden, 


Frank  Hilton. 

The  Yellow  Frigate. 
Harry  Ogilvie. 

Arthur  Blane. 

Laura  Everingham. 
Captain  of  the  Guard. 
Letty  Hyde’s  Lovers. 
Cavaliers  of  Fortune. 
Second  to  None. 
Constable  of  France. 
Phantom  Regiment. 
King’s  Own  Borderers. 
The  White  Cockade. 
Dick  Rodney. 

First  Love  & Last  Love 
The  Girl  He  Married. 
Lady  Wedderburn’s 
Wish. 

Jack  Manly. 

Only  an  Ensign. 
Adventures  of  Rob  Roy 
Under  the  Red  Dragon 
The  Queen’s  Cadet. 
Shall  I Win  Her  ? 
Fairer  than  a Fairy. 
The  Secret  Dispatch. 
One  of  the  Six  Hun- 
dred. 

Morley  Ashton. 

Did  She  Love  Him  ? 
The  Ross-shire  Buffs. 

By  G,  P.  R.  JAMES. 

The  Brigand. 

Morley  Ernstein,  * 
Darn  ley. 

RicheUeu. 

The  Gipsy. 

Arabella  Stuart. 

The  Woodman. 
Agincourt. 


Russell. 

Castle  of  Ehrenstein. 
The  Stepmother. 
Forest  Days. 

The  Huguenot. 

The  Man  at  Arms. 

A Whim  and  its  Con- 
sequences. 

Henry  Masterton. 

The  Convict. 

Mary  of  Burgundy. 
Gowrie. 

Delaware. 

The  Robber. 

One  in  a Thousand. 
The  Smuggler.  • 
Heidelberg. 

The  Forgery. 
Gentleman  of  the  Old 
School. 

Philip  Augustus. 

The  Black  Eagle. 
Beauchamp. 

Arrah  Neil. 

Sir  W.  SCOTT. 
Waverley. 

Guy  Mannering. 

Old  Mortality. 

Heart  of  Midlothian. 
Rob  Roy. 

Ivanhoe. 

The  Antiquary. 

Bride  of  Lammermoor. 
Black  Dwarf  and 
Legend  of  Montrose . 
The  Monastery. 

The  Abbot. 
Kenilworth. 

Tne  Pirate. 

Fortunes  of  Nigel. 
Peveril  of  the  Peak. 


NOVELS  AT  TWO  SHILLINGS. 

LYTTON. 


Published  by  George  Routledge  and  Sons. 


1 


TWO  SHILLING  BOOKS,  continued. 

Maurice  Dering. 
Brakespeare. 

Anteros. 

Breaking  a Butterfly. 
Sans  Merci. 

Sword  and  Gown. 
EDMUND  YATES. 
Running  the  Gauntlet. 
Kissing  the  Rod. 

The  Rock  Ahead. 

Black  Sheep. 

A Righted  Wrong. 

The  Yellow  Flag, 
impending  Sword. 

A Waiting  Race. 
Broken  to  Harness. 

Two  by  Tricks. 

A Silent  Witness. 


’Quentin  Durward. 

St  Ronan’s  Well. 

Red  Gauntlet. 
Betrothed  and  High- 
land Widow. 

The  Talisman  and 
Two  Drovers. 
Woodstock. 

Fair  Maid  of  Perth. 
Anne  of  Geierstein. 
Count  Robert  of  Paris. 
Surgeon's  Daughter. 

By  Mrs.  GORE. 
The  Money  Lender. 
Pin  Money. 

The  Dowager. 

Mothers  & Daughters. 
Cecil. 

The  Debutante. 

W.  H.  MAXWELL. 
Stories  of  Waterloo. 
Brian  O’ Lynn. 

Captain  Blake. 

The  Bivouac. 

Hector  O Halloran. 
Captain  O’Sullivan. 
Stories  of  the  Penin- 
sular War. 

Flood  and  Field. 

Sports  and  Adventures 
in  the  Highlands. 
Wild  Sports  in  the 
West. 

THEODORE  HOOK 

Peregrine  Bunce. 
Cousin  Geoffry. 

Gilbert  Gurney. 
Parson's  Daughter. 

All  in  the  Wrong. 
Widow  and  Marquess. 
Gurney  Married. 

Jack  Brag. 

Maxwell. 

Man  of  Many  Friends. 
Passion  and  Principle. 
Merton. 

Gervase  Skinner. 

Cousin  William. 

Fathers  and  Sons. 
Author  of  “ Guy 
Livingstone.” 

Guy  Livingstone. 

Barren  Honour. 


H.  KINGSLEY. 
Stretton. 

Old  Margaret. 

The  Harveys. 

Hornby  Mills. 

Capt.  ARMSTRONG 
The  Two  Midshipmen. 
The  Medora 
The  War  Hawk. 
Young  Commander. 
By  Capt.  CHAMIER. 
Life  of  a Sailor. 

Ben  Brace. 

Tom  Bowling. 

Jack  Adams. 

HENRY  COCKTON. 
Valentine  Vox. 

Stanley  Thorn. 

By  G.  R.  GLEIG. 
The  Light  Dragoon. 
Chelsea  Veterans. 

The  Hussar. 

By  Mrs.  CROWE. 
Night  Side  of  Nature. 
Susan  Hopley. 

Linny  Lockwood. 

ALEX.  DUMAS. 
The  Half  Brothers. 
Marguerite  de  Valois. 
The  Mohicans  of  Paris. 
A.  B.  EDWARDS. 
The  Ladder  of  Life. 
My  Brother’s  Wife. 
Half  a Million  of 
Money. 


By  Miss  FERRIER. 

Marriage. 

The  Inheritance. 
Destiny. 

By  FIELDING. 

Tom  Jones. 

Joseph  Andrews. 
Amelia. 

By  GERSTAEKER. 
A Wife  to  Order. 

The  Two  Convicts. 
Feathered  Arrow. 
Each  for  Himself. 

By  LANG. 

Will  He  Marry  Her? 
The  Ex-Wife. 

CHAS.  LEVER. 
Arthur  O’Leary. 

Con  Cregan. 

By  S.  LOVER. 
Rory  O’ More. 

Handy  Andy. 

By  MAYNE  REID. 
The  Quadroon. 

The  War  Trail. 

By  Captain  NEALE. 
The  Lost  Ship. 

The  Captain  s Wife. 
Pride  of  the  Mess. 

Will  Watch. 
Cavendish. 

The  Flying  Dutchman. 
Gentleman  Jack. 

The  Port  Admiral. 

The  Naval  Surgeon. 
ALBERT  SMITH. 
Marchioness  of  Brin- 
villiers. 

Adventures  of  Mr. 
Ledbury. 

Scattergood  Family. 
Christopher  Tadpole. 
The  Pottleton  Legacy. 

By  SMOLLETT. 
Roderick  Random. 
Humphrey  Clinker. 
Peregrine  Pickle. 

Mrs.  TROLLOPE. 
Petticoat  Government. 
One  Fault. 

Widow  Barnaby. 
Widow  Married. 
Barnabys  in  America. 
The  Ward. 

Love  and  Jealousy. 


Published  by  George  Routledge  and  Sons. 


2 


TWO  SHILLING 

MissWETHERELL 
The  Old  Helmet. 

Ellen  Montgomery’s 
Bookshelf. 

Melbourne  House. 

The  Two  School  Girls. 

By 


BOOKS,  continued . 
Wide,  Wide  World. 
Queechy. 

By  the  Author  of 
“ Whitefriars.” 
Whitefriars. 

Whitehall. 

Caesar  Borgia.  i 

VARIOUS 


Caleb  Williams,  by  Godwin. 
Scottish  Chiefs. 

Torlogh  O’Brien.  [Martineau. 
The  Hour  and  the  Man,  by  Miss 
The  Prairie  Bird. 

The  Rifleman,  by  Captain  Rafter. 
Salathiel,  by  Dr.  Croly. 

Francesca  Carrara,  by  L.  E.  L. 
The  Bashful  Irishman. 

Deeds,  not  Words. 

Secret  of  a Life.  [Long. 

Sir  Roland  Ashton,  by  Lady  C. 
The  Greatest  Plague  of  Life,  with 
Cruikshank’s  plates. 

The  Attach^,  by  Sam  Slick. 

The  Green  Hand. 

Hajji  Baba  of  Ispahan. 

Whom  to  Marry,  with  Cruik- 
shank’s plates. 

Letter  Bag  of  the  Great  Western. 
Black  and  Gold. 

Vidocq,  the  French  Police  Spy. 
Gilderoy. 

Singleton  Fontenoy. 

The  Lamplighter. 

Gideon  Giles,  the  Roper. 

Clives  of  Burcot. 

The  Wandering  Jew. 

The  Mysteries  of  Paris. 

Land  and  Sea  Tales. 

False  Colours,  by  Annie  Thomas. 
Nick  of  the  Woods. 

Mabel  Vaughan. 

Banim’s  Peep  o’  Day. 

Banim’s  Smuggler.  [Norton. 
Stuart  of  Dunleath,  by  Hon.  Mrs. 
Adventures  of  a Strolling  Player. 
Solitary  Hunter. 

Kaloolah,  by  Mayo. 

Won  in  a Canter,  by  Old  Calabar. 
Mornings  at  Bow  Street,  with 
plates  by  George  Cruikshank. 
Boscobel,  by  W.  H.  Ainsworth. 
Blount  Tempest,  by  J.  C.  Bellew. 
Tom  Bulkeley  of  Lissington. 
Arctic  Regions.  P.  L.  Simmonds. 


Owen  Tudor. 

Maid  of  Orleans. 
Westminster  Abbey. 
Madeleine  Graham. 
Gold  Worshippers. 
Armourer’s  Daughter. 

AUTHORS. 

Dower  House,  by  Annie  Thomas. 
Miss  Forrester,  by  the  Author  of 
“ Archie  Lovell.” 

The  Pretty  Widow,  by  Chas.  Ross. 
Recommended  to  Mercy. 
Adventures  of  Dr.  Brady,  by  Dr. 

W.  H.  Russell.  [Places. 

Love  Stories  of  English  Watering 
A Perfect  Treasure,  by  Author  of 
“ Lost  Sir  Massingberd.” 

Saved  by  a Woman,  by  the  Author 
of  “ No  Appeal.” 

At  His  Gates,  by  Mrs.  Oliphant. 
Golden  Lion  of  Granpere,  by  An- 
thony Trollope. 

Murphy’s  Master,  by  the  Author 
of  “ Lost  Sir  Massingberd.” 
Manchester  Rebels,  by  Ainsworth. 
Helen,  by  Miss  Edgeworth. 

First  Lieutenant’s  Story,  by  Lady 
Long.  [Charles  Dickens. 

Grimaldi,  the  Clown,  Edited  by 
Rodenhurst  ; or,  The  Millionaire 
and  the  Hunchback. 

Clement  Lonmer,  by  A.  B.  Reach. 
Tom  Cringle’s  Log,  by  M.  Scott. 
Private  Life  of  an  Eastern  King. 
Adventures  of  Captain  Hatteras, 
by  Verne. 

Twenty  Thousand  Leagues  under 
the  Sea,  by  Verne. 

Five  Weeks  in  a Balloon,  and  a 
Journey  to  Centre  of  the  Earth. 
Preston  Fight,  by  Ainsworth. 

My  Love  she's  but  a Lassie  yet. 
Cross  of  Honour,  Annie  Thomas. 
The  Girl  he  left  Behind  him,  by 
J.  M.  Jephson.  [Colomb. 

Hearths  and  Watchfires,  by  Col. 
City  of  the  Sultan,  by  Miss  Pardoe 
Jennie  of  the  “ Prince’s.” 

Through  the  Mist,  Jeanie  Hering. 
Tales  of  the  Coastguard. 

Leonard  Lindsay.  Angus  B.  Reach. 
Carleton’s  Traits,  ist  series. 
2nd  series. 


Published  by  George  Routledge  and  Sons. 


3 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


EDMUND  YATES’S  NOVELS. 

In  boards , 2s.  each ; in  cloth , 2s.  Gd.  each . 


RUNNING  THE  GAUNTLET. 
KISSING  THE  ROD. 

ROCK  AHEAD. 

BLACK  SHEEP. 

RIGHTED  WRONG. 

YELLOW  FLAG. 

IMPENDING  SWORD. 

A WAITING  RACE. 

BROKEN  TO  HARNESS. 

TWO  BY  TRICKS. 

A SILENT  WITNESS. 

DR.  WAIN  WRIGHT’S  PATIENTS. 
NOBODY’S  FORTUNE. 

WRECKED  IN  PORT. 

THE  BUSINESS  OF  PLEASURE. 


WRECKED  IN  PORT 


a f#wt, 


BY 

EDMUND  YATES, 

AUTHOR  OF  “THE  ROCK  AHEAD,”  “BLACK  SHEEP,”  “LAND  AT  LAST,"  ETC, 


“ All  things  that  are 

Are  more  with  spirit  chased  than  enjoyed.”  j 

Shakespeare. 


LONDON : 

GEORGE  ROUTLEDGE  AND  SONS, 

BROADWAY,  LUDGATE  HILL. 

NEW  YORK:  416,  BROOME  STREET. 


1879. 


. 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2016  with  funding  from 

University  of  Illinois  Urbana-Champaign  Alternates 


https  ://arc  h i ve . o rg/d  etai  I s/wrec  ked  i n po  rt  n ovOOyate 


to 


FRANK  IVES  SCUDAMORE 
toft 


13  VERY  CORDIALLY  INSCRIBED. 


i I 50455 


CONTENTS. 


I. 

II. 

Moribund  . 

Retrospective  .... 

III. 

Marian  ..... 

IY. 

Marian’s  Choice  .... 

Y. 

WOOLGREAVES  .... 

, 

YI. 

Bread-seeking  .... 

VII. 

A New  Friend  .... 

VIII. 

Flitting  . . . . 

IX. 

The  Tenth  Earl 

X. 

An  Interior  ..... 

XI. 

The  Lout  ..... 

XII. 

A Removal  ..... 

XIII. 

Life  at  Westhope 

XIY. 

Lady  Caroline  .... 

XY. 

“ News  from  the  Humming  City  ” . 

. 

XYI. 

u He  loves  3i e ; iie  loves  me  not  ” 

XVII. 

Becoming  Indispensable 

XVIII. 

The  Rubicon  ..... 

XIX. 

XX. 

Marian’s  Reply  . 
During  the  Interval 

XXI. 

XXII. 

Success  achieved  . . . . 

The  Girls  they  left  behind  them 

PACK 

1 

9 

18 

25 

38 

51 

64 

73 

83 

95 

105 

118 

132 

147 

154 

164 

176 

186 

200 

212 

226 

240 


viii 

CHAPTER 

XXIII. 

XXIV. 

XXV. 

XXVI. 

XXVII. 

XXVIII. 

XXIX. 

XXX. 

XXXI. 

XXXII. 

XXXIII. 

XXXIV. 

XXXV. 

XXXVI. 

XXXVII. 

XXXVIII. 


CONTENTS. 

Wednesday’s  Post  ..... 
Poor  Papa’s  Successor  .... 
Clouding  oyer  ..... 
In  Harness  ..... 
Biding  at  Anchor  ..... 
The  Opportunity  .... 
Canvassing 

Baffled  ...... 

An  Incomplete  Victory  .... 

The  Shattering  of  the  Idol 

Too  Late  ...... 

For  once  Gertrude  takes  the  Lead 

Lady  Caroline  advises  on  a Delicate  Subject 

Night  and  Morning  .... 

Marian’s  Besolve  ..... 

The  Besult  .... 


PAGE 

252 

267 

280 

291 

803 

814 

323 

837 

348 

362 

373 

386 

398 

410 

422 

433 


WRECKED  IN  PORT 


CHAPTER  I. 

MORIBUND. 

“ I say  ! Old  Ashurst’s  going  to  die.” 

“ No ! How  do  you  know  ? Who  told  you  ? ” 

“ I heard  Dr.  Osborne  say  so  to  Miss  Winter.” 

“ Ah ! so  likely  Dr.  Osborne  would  tell  that  old  beast ! 
Why,  doctors  are  the  silentest  fellows  in  the  world.  My 
uncle  Robert  is  a doctor,  and  I know  all  about  it.” 

“ Well,  I’ll  take  my  dick  I heard  old  Osborne  say  so! 
I say,  Hawkes,  if  Ashurst  does  die,  we  shall  break  up  at 
once,  sha’n’t  we  ? ” 

“ I should  think  so  ! Stunning  ! ” 

“And  we  sha’n’t  come  back  till  there’s  a new  head 
master  ? ” 

“ Of  course  not,  you  young  ass ! That  don’t  matter 
much  to  me ; I’m  going  to  leave  this  term.” 

~~  “ Don’t  I wish  I was,  that’s  all ! I say,  Hawkes,  do 
vou  think  the  governors  will  give  old  Ashurst’s  place  to 
Joyce?” 

“ Joyce? — that  snob ! Not  they,  indeed ! They’11  get 
a swell  from  Oxford,  or  somewhere,  to  be  head  master ; 
and  I should  think  he’ll  give  Master  Joyce  the  sack. 
Baker,  lend  me  twopence  ! ” 

“ No — I say,  Hawkes,  you  owe  me ” 

“ I know  all  about  that,  you  young  beggar — pay  you 
on  Saturday.  Hand  out  now,  or  I’ll  fetch  you  a lick  on 
the  head.” 


B 


2 


WRECKED  IN  PORTo 


Under  the  pressure  of  this  awful  threat,  little  Sam 
Baker  produced  the  required  sum  from  his  trousers- 
pocket,  and  gave  the  coins  to  big  Alfred  Hawkes,  who 
threw  them  into  the  air,  caught  them  over-handed,  and 
walked  off,  whistling.  Little  Sam  Baker,  left  to  himself, 
turned  out  the  pocket  of  his  trousers,  which  he  had  not 
yet  explored,  found  a half-melted  acidulated  drop  sticking 
in  one  corner,  removed  it,  placed  it  in  his  mouth,  and 
enjoyed  it  with  great  relish.  This  refection  finished,  he 
leaned  his  little  arms  over  the  park-paling  of  the  cricket- 
field,  where  the  above-described  colloquy  had  taken  place, 
and  surveyed  the  landscape.  Immediately  beneath  him 
was  a large  meadow,  from  which  the  hay  had  been  just 
removed,  and  which,  looking  brown  and  bare  and  closely 
shorn  as  the  chin  of  some  retired  Indian  civilian,  re- 
mained yet  fragrant  from  its  recent  treasure.  The 
meadow  sloped  down  to  a broad  sluggishly-flowing  stream, 
unnavigated  and  unnavigable,  where  the  tall  green  flags, 
standing  breast-high,  bent  and  nodded  gracefully,  under 
the  influence  of  the  gentle  summer  breeze,  to  the  broad- 
leaved water-lilies  couchant  below  them.  A notion  of 
scuttling  across  the  meadow  and  having  “ a bathe  ” in  a 
sequestered  part  of  the  stream  which  he  well  knew,  faded 
out  of  little  Sam  Baker’s  mind  before  it  was  half  formed. 
Though  a determined  larker  and  leader  in  mischief  among 
his  coevals,  he  was  too  chivalrous  to  take  advantage  of 
the  opportunity  which  their  chiefs  illness  gave  him  over 
his  natural  enemies,  the  masters.  Their  chief’s  illness ! 
And  little  Sam  Baker’s  eyes  were  lifted  from  the  river 
and  fixed  themselves  on  a house  about  a quarter  of  a mile 
further  on — a low-roofed,  one-storeyed,  red-brick  house, 
with  a thatched  roof  and  little  mullioned  windows,  from 
one  of  which  a white  blind  was  fluttering  in  the  evening 
breeze.  “ That’s  his  room,”  said  little  Sam  Baker  to 
himself.  “Poor  old  Ashurst!  He  wasn’t  half  a bad  old 
chap;  he  often  let  me  off  a hundred  lines  he — poor  old 
Ashurst ! ” And  two  large  tears  burst  from  the  small 
boy’s  eyes  and  rolled  down  his  cheeks. 


MORIBUND. 


3 


The  boy  was  right.  Where  the  white  blind  fluttered 
was  the  dominie's  bedroom,  and  there  the  dominie  lay 
dying.  A gaunt,  square,  ugly  room  with  panelled  walls, 
on  which  the  paint  had  cracked  and  rubbed  and  blistered, 
with  such  furniture  as  it  possessed  old-fashioned,  lumber- 
ing, and  mean,  with  evidence  of  poverty  everywhere— 
evidence  of  poverty  which  a woman's  hand  had  evidently 
tried  to  screen  and  soften  without  much  effect.  The  bed, 
its  well-worn  red-moreen  curtains,  with  a dirty  yellow 
border,  having  been  tightly  bound  round  each  sculptured 
post  for  the  admittance  of  air,  stood  near  the  window,  on 
which  its  occupant  frequently  turned  his  glazed  and 
sunken  eyes.  The  sun  had  gone  to  rest,  the  invalid  had 
marked  its  sinking,  and  so  had  those  who  watched  him, 
and  the  same  thought  had  occurred  to  all,  but  not  a word 
had  been  spoken ; but  the  roseate  flush  which  it  leaves 
behind  still  lingered  in  the  heavens,  and,  as  if  in  mockery, 
lent  momentarily  to  the  dying  man’s  cheek  a bright 
healthy  hue  such  as  it  was  not  destined  to  wear  in  life 
again.  The  flush  grew  fainter,  and  faded  away,  and  then 
a glance  at  the  face,  robbed  of  its  artificial  glory,  must 
have  been  conclusive  as  to  the  inevitable  result.  For  the 
cheeks  were  hollow  and  sunken,  yellowish- white  in  colour, 
and  cold  and  clammy  to  the  touch ; the  eyes,  with  scarcely 
any  fire  left  in  them,  seemed  set  in  large  bistre  rings ; the 
nose  was  thin  and  pinched,  and  the  bloodless  lips  were 
tightly  compressed  with  an  expression  of  acute  pain. 

The  Eev.  James  Ashurst  was  dying.  Every  one  in 
Helmingham  knew  that,  and  nearly  every  one  had  a word 
of  kindness  and  commiseration  for  the  stricken  man,  and 
for  his  wife  and  daughter.  Dr.  Osborne  had  carried  the 
news  up  to  the  Park  several  days  previously,  and  Sir 
Thomas  had  hemmed  and  coughed,  and  said,  “ Dear  me  I " 
and  Lady  Churchill  had  shaken  her  head  piteously  on 
hearing  it.  “ And  nothing  much  to  leave  in  the  way  of — 
eh,  my  dear  doctor?"  It  was  the  doctor’s  turn  to  shake 
his  head  then,  and  he  solaced  himself  with  a large  pinch 
of  snuff,  taken  in  a flourishing  and  sonorous  manner. 


4 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


before  ho  replied  that  he  believed  matters  in  that  way 
were  much  worse  than  people  thought ; that  he  did  not 
believe  there  was  a single  penny — not  a single  penny: 
indeed,  it  was  a thing  not  to  be  generally  talked  of,  but 
he  might  mention  it  in  the  strictest  confidence  to  Sir 
Thomas  and  my  lady,  who  had  always  proved  themselves 
such  good  friends  to  the  Ashursts — that  was,  he  had 
mentioned  to  Mrs.  Ashurst  that  there  was  one  faint  hope 
of  saving  her  husband’s  life,  if  he  would  submit  to  a 
certain  operation  which  only  one  man  in  England,  Godby 
of  St.  Vitus’s  Hospital  in  London,  could  perform.  But 
when  he  had  mentioned  Godby’s  probable  fee — and  you 
could  not  expect  these  eminent  men  to  leave  their  regular 
work,  and  come  down  such  a long  distance  under  a large 
sum — he  saw  at  once  how  the  land  lay,  and  that  it  was 
impossible  for  them  to  raise  the  money.  Miss  Ashurst — 
curious  girl  that,  so  determined  and  all  that  kind  of  thing 
— had  indeed  pressed  him  so  hard  that  he  had  sent  his 
man  over  to  the  telegraph-office  at  Brocksopp  with  a 
message  inquiring  what  would  be  Godby’s  exact  charge 
for  running  down — it  was  a mere  question  of  distance 
with  these  men,  so  much  a mile,  and  so  much  for  the 
operation — but  he  knew  the  sum  he  had  named  was  not 
far  out. 

From  the  Park,  Dr.  Osborne  had  driven  his  very 
decorous  little  four-wheeler  to  Woolgreaves,  the  residence 
of  the  Creswells,  his  other  great  patients,  and  there  he 
had  given  a modified  version  of  his  story,  with  a very 
much  modified  result.  For  old  Mr.  Creswell  was  away  in 
France,  and  neither  of  the  two  young  ladies  was  of  an 
age  to  feel  much  sympathy,  unless  with  their  intimate 
relations,  and  they  had  been  educated  abroad,  and  seen 
but  little  of  the  Helmingham  folk;  and  as  for  Tom  Cres- 
well, he  was  the  imp  of  the  school,  having  all  Sam  Baker’s 
love  of  mischief  without  any  of  his  good  heart,  and  would 
not  have  cared  who  was  ill  or  who  died,  provided  illness 
or  death  afforded  occasion  for  slacking  work  and  making 
holiday.  Every  one  else  in  the  parish  was  grieved  at  the 


MORIBUND. 


5 


news.  The  rector-bland,  polished,  and  well  endowed 
with  worldly  goods — had  been  most  actively  compassionate 
towards  his  less  fortunate  brother ; the  farmers,  who  looked 
upon  “ Master  Ashnrst  ” as  a marvel  of  book-learning,  the 
labourers,  who  had  consented  to  the  removal  of  the  village 
sports,  held  from  time  immemorial  on  the  village  green, 
to  a remote  meadow,  whence  the  noise  could  not  penetrate 
to  the  sick  man’s  room,  and  who  had  considerately  lowered 
the  matter  as  well  as  the  manner  of  their  singing  as  they 
passed  the  school-house  at  night  in  jovial  chorus — all 
these  people  pitied  the  old  man  dying,  and  the  old  wife 
whom  he  would  leave  behind.  They  did  not  say  much 
about  the  daughter;  when  they  referred  to  her  it  was 
generally  to  the  effect  that  she  would  manage  tolerably 
well  for  herself,  for  “ she  were  a right  plucked  un,  Miss 
Marian  were.” 

They  were  right.  It  needed  little  skill  in  physiog- 
nomy to  trace,  even  under  the  influence  of  the  special 
circumstances  surrounding  her,  the  pluck  and  spirit  and 
determination  in  every  feature  of  Marian  Ashurst’s  face. 
They  were  patent  to  the  most  ordinary  beholder ; patent 
in  the  brown  eye,  round  rather  than  elongated,  small  yet 
bright  as  a beryl ; in  the  short  sharply  curved  nose,  in  the 
delicately  rounded  chin,  which  relieved  the  jaw  of  a 
certain  fulness,  sufficiently  characteristic,  but  scarcely 
pretty.  Variety  of  expression  was  Marian’s  great  charm  ; 
her  mobile  features  acting  under  every  impulse  of  her 
mind,  and  giving  expression  to  her  every  thought.  Those 
who  had  seen  her  seldom,  or  only  in  one  mood,  would 
scarcely  have  recognised  her  in  another.  To  the  old  mau, 
lying  stretched  on  his  death-bed,  she  had  been  a fairy  to 
be  worshipped,  a plaything  to  be  for  ever  prized.  In  his 
presence  the  brown  eyes  were  always  bright,  the  small, 
sharp,  white  teeth  gleamed  between  the  ripe  red  lips,  and 
one  could  scarcely  have  traced  the  jaw,  that  occasionally 
rose  rigid  and  hard  as  iron,  in  the  soft  expanse  of  the 
downy  cheek.  Had  he  been  able  to  raise  his  eyes,  he 
would  have  seen  a very  different  look  in  her  face  as,  after 


6 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


bending  over  the  bed  and  ascertaining  that  her  father 
slept,  she  turned  to  the  other  occupant  of  the  room,  and 
said,  more  in  the  tone  of  one  pondering  over  and  repeating 
something  previously  heard  than  of  a direct  question — 

“ A hundred  and  thirty  guineas,  mother  ! ” 

For  a minute  Mrs.  Ashurst  made  her  no  reply.  Her 
thoughts  were  far  away.  She  could  scarcely  realise  the 
.scene  passing  round  her,  though  she  had  pictured  it  to 
herself  a hundred  times  in  a hundred  different  phases. 
Years  ago — how  many  years  ago  it  seemed ! — she  was 
delicate  and  fragile,  and  thought  she  should  die  before  her 
husband,  and  she  would  lie  awake  for  hours  in  the  night, 
rehearsing  her  own  death-bed,  and  thinking  how  she 
should  tell  James  not  to  grieve  after  her,  but  to  marry 
again,  anybody  except  that  Eleanor  Shaw,  the  organist’s 
daughter,  and  she  should  be  sorry  to  think  of  that  flighty 
minx  going  through  the  linen  and  china  after  she  was 
gone.  And  now  the  time  had  really  come,  and  he  was 
going  to  be  taken  from  her ; he,  her  James,  with  his  big 
brown  eyes  and  long  silky  hair,  and  strong  lithe  figure,  as 
she  first  remembered  him — going  to  be  taken  from  her 
now,  and  leave ; her  an  old  woman,  poor  and  lone  and 
forlorn — and  Mrs.  Ashurst  tried  to  stop  the  tears  which 
rolled  down  her  face,  and  to  reply  to  her  daughter’s 
strange  remark. 

“ A hundred  and  thirty  guineas ! yes,  my  dear,  you’re 

thinking  of  Mr.- I forget  his  name — the  surgeon. 

That  was  the  sum  he  named.” 

“You’re  sure  of  it,  mother?” 

“ Certain  sure,  my  dear ! Mr.  Casserly,  Dr.  Osborne’s 
assistant,  a very  pleasant-spoken  young  man,  showed  me 
the  telegraph  message,  and  I read  it  for  myself.  It  gave 
me  such  a turn  that  I thought  I should  have  dropped,  and 
Mr.  Casserly  offered  me  some  sal  volatile  or  peppermint — 
I mean  of  his  own  accord,  and  never  intended  to  charge 
for  it,  I am  sure.” 

“ A hundred  and  thirty  guineas  ! and  the  one  chance  of 
saving  his  life  is  to  be  lost  because  we  cannot  command 


MORIBUND. 


7 


that  sum  ! Good  God ! to  think  of  our  losing  him  for 

want  of Is  there  no  one,  mother,  from  whom  we 

could  get  it  ? Think,  think  ! It’s  of  no  use  sitting  crying 
there ! Think,  is  there  no  one  who  could  help  us  in  this 
strait  ? ” 

The  feeling  of  dignity  which  Mrs.  Ashurst  knew  she 
ought  to  have  assumed  was  scared  by  her  daughter’s 
earnestness,  so  the  old  lady  merely  fell  to  smoothing  her 
dress,  and,  after  a minute’s  pause,  said  in  a tremulous 
voice — 

“ I fear  there  is  no  one,  my  dear  ! The  rector,  I dare 
say,  would  do  something,  but  I’m  afraid  your  father  has 
already  borrowed  money  of  him,  and  I know  he  has  of 
Mr.  King,  the  chairman  of  the  governors  of  the  school. 
I don’t  know  whether  Mr.  Casserly— — ” 

“ Mr.  Casserly,  mother,  a parish  doctor’s  drudge  ! Is 
it  likely  that  he  would  be  able  to  assist  us  ? ” 

“Well,  I don’t  know,  my  dear,  about  being  able,  I’m 
sure  he  would  be  willing ! He  was  so  kind  about  that 

sal  volatile  that  I am  sure  he  would  do  what Lord  ! 

we  never  thought  of  Mr.  Creswell ! ” 

Set  and  hard  as  Marian’s  face  had  been  throughout  Hie 
dialogue,  it  grew  even  more  rigid  as  she  heard  these 
words.  Her  lips  tightened,  and  her  brow  clouded  as  she 
said,  “ Do  you  think  that  I should  have  overlooked  that 
chance,  mother?  Do  you  not  know  that  Mr.  Creswell  is 
away  in  France  ? He  is  the  very  first  person  to  whom 
I should  have  thought  of  applying.” 

Under  any  other  circumstances,  Mrs.  Ashurst  would 
have  been  excessively  delighted  at  this  announcement. 
As  it  was,  she  merely  said,  “The  young  ladies  are  at 
Woolgreaves,  I think.” 

“ The  young  ladies  ! ” repeated  Marian,  bitterly — “ the 
young  ladies  ! The  young  dolls — dolts — dummies  to  try 
dresses  on ! What  are  Maude  and  Gertrude  Creswell  to 
us,  mother?  What  kindness,  courtesy  even,  have  they 
ever  shown  us  ? To  get  at  their  uncle’s  purse  is  what  we 
most  need ” 


8 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


“ Oh,  Marian,  Marian  ! ” interrupted  Mrs.  Ashurst, 
“ what  are  yon  saying  ? ” 

“Saying?”  replied  Marian  calmly — “Saying?  The 
truth ! What  should  I say  when  I know  that  if  we  had 
the  command  of  Mr.  Creswell’s  purse,  father’s  life  might — 
from  what  I gather  from  Dr.  Osborne,  most  probably 
would — be  saved ! Are  these  circumstances  under  which 
one  should  be  meek  and  mild  and  thankful  for  one’s  lot  in 

life  ! Is  this  a time  to  talk  of  gratitude  and He’s 

moving  ! Yes,  darling  father,  Marian  is  here ! ” 

Two  hours  afterwards,  Marian  and  Dr.  Osborne  stood 
in  the  porch.  There  were  tears  in  the  eyes  of  the 
garrulous  but  kindly  old  man ; but  the  girl’s  eyes  were 
dry,  and  her  face  was  set  harder  and  more  rigid  than  ever. 
The  doctor  was  the  first  to  speak. 

“ Good  night,  my  dear  child,”  said  he  ; “ and  may  God 
comfort  you  in  your  affliction.  I have  given  your  poor 
mother  a composing  draught,  and  trust  to  find  her  better 
in  the  morning.  Fortunately,  you  require  nothing  of  that 
kind.  God  bless  you,  dear ! It  will  be  a consolation  to 
you,  as  it  is  to  me,  to  know  that  your  father,  my  dear  old 
friend,  went  off  perfectly  placid  and  peacefully.” 

“It  is  a consolation,  doctor — more  especially  as  I 
believe  such  an  ending  is  rare  with  people  suffering  under 
his  disease.” 

“ His  disease,  child  ? Why,  what  do  you  think  your 
father  died  of  ? ” 

“ Think,  doctor  ? I know  ! Of  the  want  of  a hundred 
and  thirty  guineas ! ” 


( 9 ) 


CHAPTER  II. 

RETROSPECTIVE. 

The  Reverend  James  Ashurst  had  been  head  master  of  the 
Helmingham  Grammar  School  for  nearly  a quarter  of  a 
century.  Many  old  people  in  the  village  had  a vivid 
recollection  of  him  as  a young  man,  with  bis  bright  brown 
hair  curling  over  his  coat-collar,  his  frank  fearless  glances, 
his  rapid  jerky  walk.  They  recollected  how  he  was  by  no 
means  particularly  well  received  by  the  powers  that  then 
were,  how  he  was  spoken  of  as  “ one  of  the  new  school  ” 
— a term  in  itself  supposed  to  convey  the  highest  degree 
of  opprobrium — and  how  the  elders  had  shaken  their  heads 
and  prophesied  that  no  good  would  come  of  the  change, 
and  that  it  would  have  been  better  to  have  held  on  to  old 
Dr.  Munch,  after  all.  Old  Dr.  Munch,  who  had  been  Mr. 
Ashurst’s  immediate  predecessor,  was  as  bad  a specimen  of 
the  old-fashioned,  nothing-doing,  sinecure-seeking  peda- 
gogue as  could  well  be  imagined ; a rotund,  red-faced, 
gouty-footed  divine,  with  a thick  layer  of  limp  white 
cravat  loosely  tied  round  his  short  neck,  and  his  suit  of 
clerical  sables  splashed  with  a culinary  spray;  a man 
whose  originally  small  stock  of  classical  learning  had 
gradually  faded  away,  and  whose  originally  large  stock  of 
idleness  and  self-gratification  had  simultaneously  increased. 
Forty  male  children,  born  in  lawful  wedlock  in  the  parish 
of  Helmingham,  and  properly  presented  on  the  foundation, 
might  have  enjoyed  the  advantages  of  a free  classical  and 
mathematical  education  at  the  Grammar  School  under  the 
will  of  old  Sir  Ranulph  Clinton,  the  founder;  but,  under 
the  lax  rule  of  Dr.  Munch,  the  forty  gradually  dwindled 
to  twenty,  and  of  these  twenty  but  few  attended  school  in 
the  afternoon,  knowing  perfectly  that  for  the  first  few 
minutes  after  coming  in  from  dinner  the  doctor  paid  but 
little  attention  as  to  which  members  of  the  class  might  be 


10 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


present,  and  that  in  a very  few  minutes  lie  fell  into  a state 
of  pleasant  and  unbroken  slumber. 

This  state  of  affairs  was  terrible,  and,  worst  of  all,  it 
was  getting  buzzed  abroad.  The  two  or  three  conscien- 
tious boys  who  really  wanted  to  learn  shook  their  heads 
in  despair,  and  appealed  to  their  parents  to  “let  them 
leave ; ” the  score  of  lads  who  enjoyed  the  existing  state  of 
affairs  were,  lad-like,  unable  to  keep  it  to  themselves,  and 
went  about  calling  on  their  neighbours  to  rejoice  with 
them ; so,  speedily,  every  one  knew  the  state  of  affairs 
in  Helmingham  Grammar  School.  The  trustees  of  the 
charity,  or  “ governors,”  as  they  were  called,  had  not  the 
least  notion  how  to  proceed.  They  were,  for  the  most 
part,  respectable  tradesmen  of  the  place,  who  had  vague 
ideas  about  “ college  ” as  of  a sequestered  spot  where  young 
men  walked  * about  in  stuff  gowns  and  trencher  caps,  and 
were,  by  some  unexplained  circumstance,  rendered  fit  and 
ready  for  the  bishop  to  convert  into  clergymen.  There 
must,  they  thought,  probably  be  in  this  “ college  ” some  one 
fit  to  take  the  place  of  old  Dr.  Munch,  who  must  be  got  rid 
of,  come  what  may.  At  first,  the  resident  “ governors  ” — 
the  tradesmen  of  Helmingham — thought  it  best  to  write  to 
two  of  their  colleagues,  who  were  non-resident,  and  not  by 
any  manner  of  means  tradesmen,  being,  in  fact,  two  dis- 
tinguished peers  of  the  realm,  who,  holding  property  in 
the  neighbourhood,  had,  for  political  reasons,  thought  fit 
to  cause  themselves  to  be  elected  governors  of  old  Sir 
Ranulph  Clinton’s  foundation.  The  letters  explaining  the 
state  of  affairs  and  asking  for  advice  were  duly  written ; 
but  matters  political  were  at  a standstill  just  then ; there 
was  not  the  remotest  chance  of  an  election  for  years  ; and 
so  the  two  private  secretaries  of  the  two  noble  lords 
pitched  their  respective  letters  into  their  respective  waste- 
baskets, with  mutual  grins  of  pity  and  contempt  for  the 
writers.  Thrown  back  on  their  own  resources,  the  resi- 
dent governors  determined  on  applying  to  the  rector; 
acting  under  the  feeling  that  he,  as  a clergyman,  must 
have  been  to  this  “ college,”  and  would  doubtless  be  able 


RETROSPECTIVE. 


11 


to  put  them  in  the  way  of  securing  such  a man  as  they 
required.  And  they  were  right.  The  then  rector,  though 
an  old  man,  still  kept  up  occasional  epistolary  intercourse 
with  such  of  his  coevals  as  remained  at  the  university  in 
the  enjoyment  of  dignities  of  fellowships  ; and,  being  him- 
self both  literate  and  conscientious,  was  by  no  means  sorry 
to  lend  a hand  towards  the  removal  of  Dr.  Munch,  whom 
he  looked  upon  as  a scandal  to  the  cloth.  A correspondence 
entered  into  between  the  rector  of  Helmingham  and  the 
Principal  of  St.  Beowulph’s  College,  Oxford,  resulted  in 
the  enforced  resignation  of  Dr.  Munch  as  the  head  master 
of  Helmingham  Grammar  School,  and  the  appointment  of 
the  Reverend  James  Ashurst  as  his  successor.  The  old 
doctor  took  his  fate  very  calmly ; he  knew  that  for  a long 
time  he  had  been  doing  nothing,  and  had  been  sufficiently 
well  paid  for  it.  He  settled  down  in  a pleasant  village  in 
Kent,  where  an  old  crony  of  his  held  the  position  of 
warden  to  a City  Company’s  charity,  and  this  history 
knows  him  no  more. 

When  James  Ashurst  received  his  appointment  he  was 
about  eight-and-twenty,  had  taken  a double  second  class, 
had  been  scholar  and  tutor  of  his  college,  and  stood  well 
for  a fellowship.  By  nature  silent  and  reserved,  and 
having  found  it  necessary  for  the  achievement  of  his 
position  to  renounce  nearly  all  society — for  he  was  by  no 
means  a brilliant  man,  and  his  successes  had  been  gained  by 
plodding  industry,  and  constant  application  rather  than  by 
the  exercise  of  any  natural  talent — James  Ashurst  had  but 
few  acquaintances,  and  to  them  he  never  talked  of  bis 
private  affairs.  They  wondered  when  they  heard  that  he 
had  renounced  certain  prospects,  notably  those  of  a fellow- 
ship, for  so  poor  a preferment  as  two  hundred  pounds  a 
year  and  a free  house  : for  they  did  not  know  that  the  odd, 
shy,  silent  man  had  found  time  in  the  intervals  of  his 
reading  to  win  the  heart  of  a pretty  trusting  girl,  and  that 
the  great  hope  of  his  life,  that  of  being  able  to  marry  her 
and  take  her  to  a decent  home  of  which  she  would  be 
mistress,  was  about  to  be  accomplished. 


12 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


On  a dreary,  dull  day,  in  the  beginning  of  a bitter 
January,  Mr.  Ashnrst  arrived  at  Helmingham.  He  found 
the  schoolhouse  dirty,  dingy,  and  uncomfortable,  bearing 
traces  everywhere  of  the  negligence  and  squalor  of  its 
previous  occupant;  but  the  chairman  of  the  governors, 
who  met  him  on  his  arrival,  told  him  that  it  should  be 
thoroughly  cleaned  and  renovated  during  the  Easter 
holidays,  and  the  mention  of  those  holidays  caused  James 
Ashurst’s  heart  to  leap  and  throb  with  an  intensity  with 
which  house-painting  could  not  possibly  have  anything  to 
do.  In  the  Easter  holidays  he  was  to  make  Mary  Bridger 
his  wife,  and  that  thought  sustained  him  splendidly  during 
the  three  dreary  intervening  months,  and  helped  him  to 
make  head  against  a sea  of  troubles  raging  round  him. 
For  the  task  on  which  he  had  entered  was  no  easy  one. 
Such  boys  as  had  remained  in  the  school  under  the  easy 
rule  of  Dr.  Munch  were  of  a class  much  lower  than  that 
for  which  the  benefits  of  the  foundation  had  been  contem- 
plated by  the  benevolent  old  knight,  and  having  been 
unaccustomed  to  any  discipline,  had  arrived  at  a pitch  of 
lawlessness  which  required  all  the  new  master’s  energy  to 
combat.  This  necessary  strictness  made  him  unpopular 
with  the  boys,  and  at  first  with  their  parents,  who  made 
loud  complaints  of  their  children  being  “ put  upon,”  and 
in  some  cases  where  bodily  punishment  had  been  inflicted 
had  threatened  retribution.  Then  the  chief  tradespeople 
and  the  farmers,  among  whom  Dr.  Munch  had  been  a 
daily  and  nightly  guest,  drinking  his  mug  of  ale  or  his 
tumbler  of  brandy-and- water,  smoking  his  long  clay  pipe, 
taking  his  hand  at  whist,  and  listening,  if  not  with 
pleasure,  at  any  rate  without  remonstrance,  to  language 
and  stories  more  than  sufficiently  broad  and  indecorous^ 
found  that  Mr.  Ashurst  civilly,  but  persistently,  refused 
their  proffered  hospitality,  and  in  consequence  pronounced 
him  “ stuck-up.”  No  man  was  more  free  from  class 
prejudices,  but  he  had  been  bred  in  old  Somerset  country 
society,  where  the  squirearchy  maintained  an  almost  feudal 
dignity,  and  his  career  in  college  had  not  taught  him  the 


RETROSPECTIVE. 


13 


policy  of  being  on  terms  of  familiarity  with  those  whom 
Fortune  had  made  his  inferiors. 

So  James  Ashnrst  struggled  on  during  the  first  three 
months  of  his  novitiate  at  Helmingham,  earnestly  and 
energetically  striving  to  do  his  duty,  with,  it  must  be 
confessed,  but  poor  result.  The  governors  of  the  school 
had  been  so  impressed  by  the  rector’s  recommendation, 
and  by  the  testimonials  which  the  new  master  had  sub- 
mitted to  them,  that  they  expected  to  find  the  regenera- 
tion of  the  establishment  would  commence  immediately 
upon  James  Ashurst’s  appearance  upon  the  scene,  and 
were  rather  disappointed  when  they  found  that,  while  the 
number  of  scholars  remained  much  the  same  as  at  the  time 
of  Dr.  Munch’s  retirement,  the  general  dissatisfaction  in 
the  village  was  much  greater  than  it  had  ever  been  during 
the  reign  of  that  summarily-treated  pedagogue.  The 
rector,  to  be  sure,  remained  true  to  the  choice  he  had 
recommended,  and  maintained  everywhere  that  Mr. 
Ashurst  had  done  very  well  in  the  face  of  the  greatest 
difficulties,  and  would  yet  bring  Helmingham  into  notice. 
But,  notwithstanding  constant  ocular  proof  to  the  con- 
trary, the  farmers  held  that  in  the  clerical  profession,  as  in 
freemasonry,  there  was  a certain  occult  something  beyond 
the  ordinary  ken,  which  bound  members  of  “ the  cloth  ” 
together,  and  induced  them  to  support  each  other  to  the 
utmost  stretch  of  their  consciences — a proceeding  which, 
in  the  opinion  of  freethinking  Helmingham,  allowed  for  a 
considerable  amount  of  elasticity. 

At  length  the  long-looked-for  Easter  tide  arrived,  and 
James  Ashurst  hurried  away  from  the  dull  gray  old  mid- 
land country  village  to  the  bright  little  Thames-bordered 
town  where  lived  his  love.  A wedding  with  the  church 
approach  one  brilliant  pathway  of  spring  flowers,  a 
honeymoon  of  such  happiness  as  one  knows  but  once  in 
a lifetime,  passed  in  the  lovely  Lake  country,  and  then 
Helmingham  again.  But  with  a different  aspect.  The 
old  schoolhouse  itself  brave  in  fresh  paint  and  new  plaster, 
its  renovated  diamond  windows,  its  cleaned  slab  so  classi- 


14 


WRECKED  IN  PORT, 


cally  eloquent  on  the  merits  fundatoris  nostri  let  in  over 
the  porch,  its  newly  stuccoed  fives’  wall  and  fresh-gra- 
velled playground ; all  this  was  strange  hut  intelligible. 
But  James  Ashurst  could  not  understand  yet  the  change 
that  had  come  over  his  inner  life.  To  return  after  a hard 
day’s  grinding  in  a mill  of  boys  to  his  own  rooms  was, 
during  the  first  three  months  of  his  career  at  Helming- 
ham,  merely  to  exchange  active  purpose  for  passive  exist- 
ence. Now,  his  life  did  but  begin  when  the  labours  of 
the  day  were  over,  and  he  and  his  wife  passed  the  even- 
ings together,  in  planning  to  combat  with  the  present,  in 
delightful  anticipations  of  the  future.  Mr.  Ashurst  un- 
wittingly, and  without  the  least  intending  it,  had  made  a 
very  lucky  hit  in  his  selection  of  a wife,  so  far  as  the 
Helmingham  people  were  concerned.  He  was  “ that 
bumptious  ” as  they  expressed  it,  or  as  we  will  more 
charitably  say,  he  was  sufficiently  independent,  not  to  care 
one  rap  what  the  Helmingham  people  thought  of  anything 
he  did,  provided  he  had,  as  indeed  at  that  time  he  always 
had — for  he  was  conscientious  in  the  highest  degree — the 
knowledge  that  he  was  acting  rightly  according  to  his 
light.  In  a very  few  weeks  the  actual  sweetness,  the  quiet 
frankness,  the  most  enthusiastic  charm  of  Mrs.  Ashurst’s 
demeanour  had  neutralised  all  the  ill-effects  of  her  hus- 
band’s three  months’  previous  career.  She  was  a small- 
boned,  small-featured,  delicate-looking  little  woman,  and 
as  such  excited  a certain  amount  of  compassion  and  kind- 
ness amid  the  midland-county  ladies,  who,  as  their  husbands 
said  of  them,  “ran  big.”  It  was  a positive  relief  to 
one  to  hear  her  soft  little  treble  voice  after  the  booming 
diapason  of  the  Helmingham  ladies,  or  to  see  her  pretty 
little  fat  dimpled  hands  flashing  here  and  there  in  some 
coquetry  of  needlework  after  being  accustomed  to  looking 
on  at  the  steady  play  of  particularly  bony  and  knuckly 
members  in  the  unremitting  torture  of  eminently  utilitarian 
employment.  High  and  low,  gentle  and  simple,  rich  and 
poor,  still  felt  equally  kindly  disposed  towards  Mrs. 
Ashurst.  Mrs.  Peacock,  wife  of  Squire  Peacock,  a tre- 


RETROSPECTIVE. 


15 


mendous  magnate  and  squire  of  the  neighbouring  parish, 
fell  so  much  in  love  with  her  that  she  made  her  husband 
send  their  only  son,  a magnificent  youth  destined  eventually 
for  Eton,  Oxford,  Parliament,  and  a partnership  in  a 
brewery,  to  be  introduced  to  the  Muses  as  a parlour- 
boarder  in  Mr.  Ashurst’s  house ; and  Hiram  Brooks,  the 
blacksmith  and  minister  of  the  Independent  Chapel,  who 
was  at  never-ending  war  with  all  the  members  of  the 
Establishment,  made  a special  exception  in  Mrs.  Ashurst’s 
favour,  and  doffed  his  greasy  leathern  cap  to  her  as  she 
passed  the  forge. 

And  his  pretty  little  wife  brought  him  good  fortune, 
as  well  as  domestic  happiness?  James  Ashurst  delighted 
to  think  so.  His  popularity  in  the  village,  and  in  the 
surrounding  country,  was  on  the  increase ; the  number  of 
scholars  on  the  foundership  had  reached  its  authorised 
limit  (a  source  of  great  gratification,  though  of  no  pecuniary 
profit  to  the  head  master) ; and  Master  Peacock  had  now 
two  or  three  fellow-boarders,  each  of  whom  paid  a fine 
annual  sum.  The  governors  thought  better  of  their  head 
master  now,  and  the  old  rector  had  lived  long  enough  to 
see  his  recommendation  thoroughly  accepted,  and  his 
prophecy,  as  regards  the  improved  status  of  the  school, 
duly  fulfilled.  Popular,  successful  in  his  little  way,  and 
happy  in  his  domestic  relations,  James  Ashurst  had  but 
one  want.  His  wife  was  childless,  and  this  was  to  him 
a source  of  discomfort,  always  felt  and  occasionally  ex- 
pressed. He  was  just  the  man  who  would  have  doated  on 
a child,  would  have  suffered  himself  to  have  been  pleasantly 
befooled  by  its  gambols,  and  have  worshipped  it  in  every 
phase  of  its  tyranny.  But  it  was  not  to  be,  he  supposed ; 
that  was  to  be  the  one  black  drop  in  his  draught  of  happi- 
ness : and  then,  after  he  had  been  married  for  five  or  six 
years,  Mrs.  Ashurst  brought  him  a little  daughter.  His 
hopes  were  accomplished,  but  he  nearly  lost  his  wife  in 
their  accomplishment ; while  he  dandled  the  newly  born 
treasure  in  his  arms,  Mrs.  Ashurst’s  life  was  despaired  of  ; 
and  when  the  chubby  baby  had  grown  up  into  a strong 


16 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


child,  and  from  that  sphere  of  life  had  softened  down  into 
a peaceful  girl,  her  mother,  always  slight  and  delicate,  had 
become  a constant  invalid,  whose  ill-health  caused  her 
husband  the  greatest  anxiety,  and  almost  did  away  with 
the  delight  he  had  in  anticipating  every  wish  of  his  darling 
little  Marian. 

James  Ashurst  had  longed  for  a child,  and  he  loved  his 
little  daughter  dearly  when  she  came ; but  even  then  his 
wife  held  the  deepest  and  most  sacred  place  in  his  heart, 
and  as  he  marked  her  faded  cheek  and  lustreless  eye,  he 
felt  a pang  of  remorse,  and  accused  himself  of  having  set 
himself  up  against  the  just  judgment  of  Providence,  and 
having  now  received  the  due  reward  of  his  repining.  For 
one  who  thought  his  darling  must  be  restored  to  health, 
no  sacrifice  could  be  too  great  to  accomplish  that  result ; 
and  the  Helmingham  people,  who  loved  Mrs.  Ashurst  dearly, 
but  who  in  their  direst  straits  were  never  accustomed  to 
look  for  any  other  advice  than  that  which  could  be  afforded 
them  by  Dr.  Osborne,  or  his  village  opponent,  Mr.  Sharood, 
were  struck  with  admiration  when  Dr.  Langton,  the  great 
county  physician,  the  oracle  of  Brocksopp,  was  called  into 
consultation.  Dr.  Langton  was  a very  little  man,  noted 
almost  as  much  for  his  reticence  as  his  skill.  He  never 
wasted  a word.  After  a careful  examination  of  Mrs. 
Ashurst  he  pronounced  it  to  be  a tiresome  case,  and  pre- 
scribed a four  months’  residence  at  the  baths  of  Ems  as  the 
likely  treatment  to  effect  a mitigation,  if  not  a cure.  Dr. 
Osborne,  after  the  great  man’s  departure,  laughed  aloud  in 
his  bluff  way  at  the  idea  of  a country  schoolmaster  sending 
his  wife  to  Ems. 

“ Langton  is  so  much  in  the  habit  of  going  about 
among  the  country  families,  and  these  novi  homines  of 
manufacturers  who  stink  of  brass,  as  they  say  in  these 
parts,  that  he  forgets  there  is  such  a thing  as  having 
to  look  carefully  at  ways  and  means,  my  dear  Ashurst, 
and  make  both  dovetail.  Baths  of  Ems,  indeed!  I’m 
afraid  you’ve  thrown  away  your  ten  guineas,  my  good 
friend,  if  that’s  all  you’ve  got  out  of  Langton  ! ” 


RETROSPECTIVE. 


i? 


But  Dr.  Osborne’s  smile  was  suddenly  checked  when 
Mr.  Ashurst  said  very  quietly  that  as  his  wife’s  health 
was  dearer  to  him  than  anything  on  earth,  and  that  there 
was  no  sacrifice  which  he  would  not  make  to  accomplish 
its  restoration,  he  should  find  means  of  sending  her  to 
Germany,  and  keeping  her  there  until  it  was  seen  what 
effect  the  change  had  on  her. 

And  he  did  it!  For  two  successive  summers  Mrs. 
Ashurst  went  to  Ems  with  the  old  nurse  who  had  brought 
her  up,  and  accompanied  her  from  her  pretty  river-side 
home  to  Helmingham ; and  at  the  end  of  the  second  season 
she  returned  comparatively  well  and  strong.  But  she 
needed  all  her  strength  and  health  when  she  looked  at  her 
husband,  who  came  to  meet  her  in  London,  and  found  him 
thin,  changed,  round-shouldered,  and  hollow-eyed,  the 
very  shadow  of  his  former  self.  James  Ashurst  had 
carried  through  his  plans  as  regarded  his  wife  at  enormous 
sacrifice.  He  had  no  ready  money  to  meet  the  sudden  call 
upon  his  purse  which  such  an  expedition  rendered  neces- 
sary, and  he  had  recourse  to  money-lenders  to  raise  the 
first  loans  required,  then  to  friends  to  pay  the  interest  on 
and  obtain  renewals  of  these  loans,  then  to  other  money- 
lenders to  replace  the  original  sums,  and  to  other  friends  to 
repay  a portion  of  the  first  friendly  loans,  until  by  the 
time  his  wife  returned  from  the  second  visit  to  the  Conti- 
nent he  found  himself  so  inextricably  involved  that  he 
dare  not  face  his  position,  dare  not  think  of  it  himself, 
much  less  have  taken  her  into  his  confidence,  and  so  went 
blindly  on,  paying  interest  on  interest,  and  hoping  ever 
with  a vague  hope  for  some  relief  from  his  troubles. 

That  relief  never  came  to  James  Ashurst  in  his  life- 
time. He  struggled  on  in  the  same  hopeless,  helpless* 
hand-to-mouth  fashion  for  about  eight  years  more,  always 
impecunious  in  the  highest  degree,  always  intending  to 
retrieve  his  fallen  fortune,  always  slowly  but  surely  break- 
ing and  becoming  less  and  less  of  a man  under  the  harass 
of  pecuniary  troubles,  when  the  illness  which  for  some  time 
had  threatened  him  set  in,  and,  as  we  have  seen,  ho  died. 

c 


18 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


CHAPTER  III. 

MARIAN. 

The  little  child  who  was  so  long  prayed  for,  and  who 
came  at  last  in  answer  to  James  Ashurst’s  fervent  prayers, 
had  nothing  during  her  childhood  to  distinguish  her  from 
ordinary  children.  It  is  scarcely  worthy  of  record  that 
her  mother  had  a hundred  anecdotes  illustrative  of  her 
precocity,  of  her  difference  from  other  infants,  of  certain 
peculiarities  never  before  noticed  in  a child  of  tender  years. 
All  mothers  say  these  things  whether  they  believe  them 
or  not,  and  Mrs.  Ashurst,  stretched  on  her  sick-couch,  did 
believe  them,  and  found  in  watching  what  she  believed  to 
be  the  abnormal  gambols  of  her  child,  a certain  relief  from 
the  constant,  dreary,  wearing  pain  which  sapped  her 
strength,  and  rendered  her  life  void  and  colourless  and 
unsatisfactory.  James  Ashurst  believed  them  fervently; 
even  if  they  had  required  a greater  amount  of  credulity 
than  that  which  he  was  blessed  with,  he,  knowing  it  gave 
the  greatest  pleasure  to  his  wife,  would  have  stuck  to  the 
text  that  Marian  was  a wonderful,  “ really,  he  might  say, 
a very  wonderful  child.”  But  he  had  never  seen  anything 
of  childhood  since  his  own,  which  he  had  forgotten,  and 
the  awakening  of  the  commonest  faculties  in  his  daughter 
came  upon  him  as  extraordinary  revelations  of  subtle 
character,  which,  when  their  possessor  had  arrived  at 
years  of  maturity,  would  astonish  the  world.  The  Hel- 
mingham  people  did  not  subscribe  to  these  opinions.  Most 
of  them  had  children  of  their  own,  who,  they  considered, 
were  quite  as  eccentric,  and  odd,  and  peculiar  as  Marian 
Ashurst.  “Not  that  Pm  for  Towin  that  to  be  pert  and 
sassy  one  minute,  and  sittin’  mumchance  wi’out  sa  much 
as  a word  to  throw  at  a dog  the  next,  is  quite  manners,” 
they  would  say  among  themselves;  “but  what’s  ye  to 
expect?  Poor  Mrs.  Ashurst  layin’  on  the  broue  of  her 


MARIAN. 


19 


"back,  and  little  enough  of  that,  poor  thing,  and  that 
poor  feckless  creature,  the  schoolmaster,  buzzed  i’  his  ’ed 
wi’  book  lamin’  and  that!  A pretty  pair  to  bring  up 
such  a tyke  as  Miss  Madge ! ” 

That  was  in  the  very  early  days  of  her  life.  As  the 
“ tyke  ” grew  up  she  dropped  all  outward  signs  of  tykish- 
ness,  and  seemed  to  be  endeavouring  to  prove  that  eccen- 
tricity was  the  very  last  thing  to  be  ascribed  to  her. 
The  Misses  Lewin,  whose  finishing-school  was  renowned 
throughout  the  county,  declared  they  had  never  had  so 
quick  or  so  hardworking  a pupil  as  Miss  Ashurst,  or  one 
who  had  done  them  so  much  credit  in  so  short  a time. 
The  new  rector  of  Helmingham  declared  that  he  should 
not  have  known  how  to  get  through  his  class  and  parish 
work  had  it  not  been  for  the  assistance  which  he  had 
received  from  Miss  Ashurst  at  times  when — when  really — 
well,  other  young  ladies  would,  without  the  slightest 
harm  to  themselves,  be  it  said,  have  been  enjoying  them- 
selves in  the  croquet-ground.  When  the  wardrobe  woman 
retired  from  the  school  to  enter  into  the  bonds  of  wedlock 
with  the  drill-sergeant  (whose  expansive  chest  and  manly 
figure,  when  going  through  the  “ exercise  without  clubs,” 
might  have  softened  Medusa  herself),  Marian  Ashurst  at 
once  took  upon  herself  the  vacant  situation,  and  resolutely 
refused  to  allow  any  one  else  to  fill  it.  These  may  have 
been  put  down  as  eccentricities ; they  were  evidences  of 
odd  character  certainly  not  usually  found  in  girls  of 
Marian’s  age,  but  they  were  proofs  of  a spirit  far  above 
tykishness.  All  her  best  friends,  except,  of  course,  the 
members  of  her  family  whose  views  regarding  her  were 
naturally  extremely  circumscribed,  noticed  in  the  girl  an 
exceedingly  great  desire  for  the  acquisition  of  knowledge, 
a power  of  industry  and  application  quite  unusual,  ail 
extraordinary  devotion  to  anything  she  undertook,  which 
suffered  itself  to  be  turned  away  by  no  temptation,  to  be 
wearied  by  no  fatigue.  Always  eager  to  help  in  any 
scheme,  always  bright-eyed  and  clear-headed  and  keen- 
witted, never  unduly  asserting  herself,  but  always  having 


20 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


her  own  way  while  persuading  her  interlocutors  that  she 
was  following  their  dictates,  the  odd  shy  child  grew  up 
into  a girl  less  shy,  indeed,  hut  scarcely  less  odd.  And 
certainly  not  lovable  : those  who  fought  her  battles  most 
strongly — and  even  in  that  secluded  village  there  were 
social  and  domestic  battles,  strong  internecine  warfare, 
carried  on  with  as  much  rancour  as  in  the  great  city  itself 
— were  compelled  to  admit  there  was  “ a something  ” in 
her  which  they  disliked,  and  which  occasionally  was 
eminently  repulsive. 

This  something  had  developed  itself  strongly  in  the 
character  of  the  child,  before  she  emerged  into  girlhood ; 
and  though  it  remained  vague  as  to  definition,  while 
distinct  as  to  impression  in  the  minds  of  others,  Marian 
herself  understood  it  perfectly,  and  could  have  told  any 
one,  had  she  chosen,  what  it  was  that  made  her  unlike  the 
other  children,  apart  from  her  being  brighter  and  smarter 
than  they,  a difference  which  she  also  perfectly  understood. 
She  would  have  said,  “ I am  very  fond  of  money,  and  the 
others  are  not ; they  are  content  to  have  food  and  clothes, 
but  I like  to  see  the  money  that  is  paid  for  them,  and  to 
have  some  of  it,  all  for  myself,  and  to  heap  it  up  and  look 
at  it,  and  I am  not  satisfied  as  they  are,  when  they  have 
what  they  want — I want  better  things,  nicer  food,  and 
smarter  clothes,  and  more  than  them,  the  money.  I don’t 
say  so,  because  I know  papa  hasn’t  got  it,  and  so  he  cannot 
give  it  to  me ; but  I wish  he  could.  There  is  no  use 
talking  and  grumbling  about  things  we  cannot  have; 
people  laugh  at  you,  and  are  glad  you  are  so  foolish  when 
you  do  that,  so  I say  nothing  about  it,  but  I wish  I was 
rich.” 

Marian  wTould  have  made  some  such  answer  to  any  one 
who  should  have  endeavoured  to  get  at  her  mind  to  find 
out  what  that  was  lurking  there,  never  clearly  seen,  but 
always  plainly  felt,  which  made  her  “old  fashioned,”  in 
other  than  the  pathetic  and  interesting  sense  in  which  that 
expression  has  come  to  be  used  with  reference  to  children, 
before  she  had  entered  upon  her  teens. 


MARIAN. 


21 


A clever  mother  would  have  found  out  this  grave  and 
ominous  component  of  the  child’s  character — would  have 
interpreted  the  absence  of  the  thoughtless  extravagance, 
so  charming,  if  sometimes  so  trying,  of  childhood— would 
have  been  quick  to  have  noticed  that  Marian  asked,  “ What 
will  it  cost  ? ” and  gravely  entered  into  mental  calculation 
on  occasions  when  other  children  would  have  demanded 
the  purchase  of  a coveted  article  clamorously,  and  shrieked 
if  it  were  refused.  But  Mrs.  Ashurst  was  not  a clever 
mother — she  was  only  a loving,  indulgent,  rather  helpless 
one ; and  the  little  Marian’s  careful  ways  were  such  a prac- 
tical comfort  to  her,  while  the  child  was  young,  that  it 
never  occurred  to  her  to  investigate  their  origin,  to  ask 
whether  such  a very  desirable  and  fortunate  effect  could 
by  possibility  have  a reprehensible,  dangerous,  insidious 
cause.  Marian  never  wasted  her  pennies,  Marian  never 
spoiled  her  frocks,  Marian  never  lost  or  broke  anything  ; 
all  these  exceptional  virtues  Mrs.  Ashurst  carefully  noted 
and  treasured  in  the  storehouse  of  her  memory.  What 
she  did  not  notice  was,  that  Marian  never  gave  anything 
away,  never  voluntarily  shared  any  of  her  little  possessions 
with  her  playfellows,  and,  when  directed  to  do  so,  complied 
with  a reluctance  which  all  her  pride,  all  her  brave 
dread  of  the  appearance  of  being  coerced,  hardly  enabled 
her  to  subdue,  and  suffered  afterwards  in  an  unchildlike 
way.  What  she  did  not  observe  was,  that  Marian  was  not 
to  be  taken  in  by  glitter  and  show ; that  she  preferred, 
from  the  early  days  in  which  her  power  of  exhibiting  her 
preference  was  limited  by  the  extent  of  the  choice  which 
the  toy-merchant — who  combined  hardbake  and  hair- 
dressing with  ministering  to  the  pleasures  of  infancy — 
afforded  within  the  sum  of  sixpence.  If  Marian  took  any 
one  into  her  confidence,  or  asked  advice  on  such  solemn 
occasions — generally  ensuing  on  a protracted  hoarding  of 
the  coin  in  question — it  would  not  be  by  the  questions,  “ Is 
it  the  prettiest  ? ” Is  it  the  nicest  ? ” but,  “ Do  you  think  it 
is  worth  sixpence  ? ” and  the  child  would  look  from  tho  toy 
to  the  money,  held  closely  in  the  shut  palm  of  her  chubby 


22 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


hand,  with  a perturbed  countenance,  in  which  the  pleasure 
of  the  acquisition  was  almost  neutralised  by  the  pain  of  the 
payment — a countenance  in  which  the  spirit  of  barter  was 
to  be  discerned  by  knowing  eyes.  But  none  such  took 
note  of  Marian’s  childhood.  The  illumination  of  love  is 
rather  dazzling  than  searching  in  the  case  of  mothers  of 
Mrs.  Ashurst’s  class,  and  she  was  dazzled.  Marian  was 
perfection  in  her  eyes,  and  at  an  age  at  which  the 
inversion  of  the  relations  between  mother  and  daughter, 
common  enough  in  later  life,  would  have  appeared  to  others 
unreasonable,  preposterous,  Mrs.  Ashurst  surrendered 
herself  wholly,  happily,  to  the  guidance  and  the  care  of 
her  daughter.  The  inevitable  self-assertion  of  the  stronger 
mind  took  place,  the  inevitable  submission  of  the  weaker. 
In  this  instance,  a gentle,  persuasive,  unconscious  self- 
assertion,  a joyful  yielding,  without  one  traversing  thought 
of  humiliation  or  deposition. 

Her  daughter  was  so  clever,  so  helpful,  so  grave,  so 
good;  her  economy  and  management- — surely  they  were 
wonderful  in  so  young  a girl,  and  must  have  come  to  her 
by  instinct? — rendered  life  such  a different,  so  much 
easier  a thing,  delicate  as  she  was,  and  requiring  so 
disproportionate  a share  of  their  small  means  to  be  ex- 
pended on  her,  that  it  was  not  surprising  Mrs.  Ashurst 
should  see  no  possibility  of  evil  in  the  origin  of  such 
qualities. 

As  for  Marian’s  father,  he  was  about  as  likely  to  discover 
a comet  or  a continent  as  to  discern  a flaw  in  his  daughter’s 
moral  nature.  The  child,  so  longed  for,  so  fervently 
implored,  remained  always,  in'  her  father’s  sight,  Heaven’s 
best  gift  to  him ; and  he  rejoiced  exceedingly,  and 
wondered  not  a little,  as  she  developed  into  the  girl 
whom  we  have  seen  beside  his  death-bed.  He  rejoiced 
because  she  was  so  clever,  so  quick,  so  ready,  had  such  a 
masterly  mind  and  happy  faculty  of  acquiring  knowledge ; 
knowledge  of  the  kind  he  prized  and  reverenced ; of  the 
kind  which  he  felt  would  remain  to  her,  an  inheritance  for 
her  life.  He  wondered  why  she  was  so  strong,  for  he 


MARIAN. 


23 


knew  she  did  not  take  the  peculiar  kind  of  strength  of 
character  from  him  or  from  her  mother. 

It  was  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  these  peculiarities  of 
Marian  Ashurst  were  noticed  by  the  inhabitants  of  the 
village  where  she  was  born,  and  where  her  childish  days 
had  been  passed  ; but  it  was  remarkable  that  they  were 
regarded  with  anything  but  admiration.  For  a keen 
appreciation  of  money,  and  an  unfailing  determination  to 
obtain  their  money's  worth,  had  long  been  held  to  be 
eminently  characteristic  of  the  denizens  of  Helmingham. 
The  cheesefactor  used  to  declare  that  the  hardest  .bargains 
throughout  his  county  connection  were  those  which  Mrs. 
Croke,  and  Mrs.  Whicher,  and,  worst  of  all,  old  Mrs. 
M‘Shaw  (who,  though  Helmingham  born  and  bred,  had 
married  Sandy  M‘Shaw,  a Scotch  gardener,  imported  by 
old  Squire  Creswell)  drove  with  him.  Not  the  very 
best  ale  to  be  found  in  the  cellars  of  the  Lion  at 
Brocksopp  (and  they  could  give  you  a good  glass  of  ale, 
bright,  beaming,  and  mellow,  at  the  Lion,  when  they 
choose),  not  the  strongest  mahogany-coloured  brandy-and- 
water,  mixed  in  the  bar  by  the  fair  hands  of  Miss 
Parkhurst  herself,  not  even  the  celebrated  rum-punch,  the 
recipe  of  which,  like  the  songs  of  the  Scandinavian  scalds, 
had  never  been  written  out,  but  had  descended  orally 
to  old  Tilley,  the  short,  stout,  rubicund  landlord — 
had  ever  softened  the  heart  of  a Helmingham  farmer 
in  the  matter  of  business,  or  induced  him  to  take  a 
shilling  less  on  a quarter  of  wheat,  or  a truss  of  straw, 
than  he  had  originally  made  up  his  mind  to  sell  it  at. 

“ Canny  Helmingham  ” was  its  name  throughout  the 
county,  and  its  people  were  proud  of  it.  Mr.  Cliambre,  an 
earnest  clergyman  who  had  succeeded  the  old  rector,  had 
been  forewarned  of  the  popular  prejudice,  and  on  the  second 
Sunday  of  his  ministry  addressed  his  parishioners  in  a 
very  powerful  and  eloquent  discourse  upon  the  wickedness 
of  avarice  and  the  folly  of  heaping  up  worldly  riches ; after 
which,  seeing  that  the  only  effect  his  sermon  had  was  to  lay 
him  open  to  palpable  rudeness,  he  wisely  concentrated  his 


24 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


energies  on  his  translation  of  Horace’s  Odes  (which  has 
since  gained  him  such  great  renown,  and  of  which  at  least 
forty  copies  have  been  sold),  and  left  his  parishioners’ 
souls  to  take  care  of  themselves.  But  however  canny 
and  saving  they  might  be,  and  however,  sharply  they 
might  battle  with  the  cheesefactor  and  look  after  the 
dairymaid,  as  behoved  farmers’  wives  in  these  awful  days 
of  free  trade  (they  had  a firm  belief  in  Helmingham  that 
“ Cobden,”  under  which  generic  name  they  understood  it, 
was  a kind  of  pest,  as  is  the  smut  in  wheat,  or  the  tick  in 
sheep),  all  the  principal  dames  in  the  village  were  greatly 
shocked  at  the  unnatural  love  of  money  which  it  was 
impossible  to  help  noticing  in  Marian  Ashurst. 

“ There  was  time  enow  to  think  o’  they  things,  money 
and  such-like  fash,  when  pipple  was  settled  down,”  as  Mrs. 
Croke  said ; “ but  to  see  children  hardenin’  their  hearts  and 
scrooin’  their  pocket-money  is  unnatural,  to  say  the  least 
of  it ! ” It  was  unnatural  and  unpopular  in  Helmingham. 
Mrs.  Croke  put  such  a screw  on  the  cheesefactor,  that  in 
the  evening  after  his  dealings  with  her,  that  worthy  filled 
the  commercial  room  at  the  Lion  with  strange  oaths  and 
modern  instances  of  sharp  dealing  in  which  Mrs.  Croke 
bore  away  the  palm ; but  she  was  highly  indignant  when 
Lotty  Croke’s  godmother  bought  her  a savings-bank,  a 
gray  edifice,  with  what  theatrical  people  call  a practicable 
chimney,  down  which  the  intended  savings  should  be 
deposited.  Mrs.  Whicher’s  dairymaid,  who,  being  from 
Ireland,  and  a Koman  Catholic  in  faith,  was  looked  upon 
with  suspicion,  not  to  say  fear,  in  the  village,  and  who 
was  regarded  by  the  farmers  as  in  constant  though  secret 
communication  with  the  Pope  of  Kome  and  the  Jesuit 
College  generally,  declared  that  her  mistress  “ canthered 
the  life  out  of  her  ” in  the  matter  of  small  wages  and  much 
work;  but  Mrs.  Whicher’s  daughter,  Emily,  had  more 
crimson  gowns,  and  more  elegant  bonnets,  with  regular 
fields  of  poppies,  and  perfect  harvests  of  ears  of  corn  grow- 
ing out  of  them,  than  any  of  her  compeers,  for  which  choice 
articles  the  heavy  bill  of  Madame  Morgan — formerly  of 


Marian’s  choice. 


25 


Paris,  now  of  Brocksopp— was  paid  without  a murmur. 
“ It’s  unnat’ral  in  a gell  like  Marian  Ashurst  to  think  so 
much  o’  money  and  what  it  brings,”  would  be  a frequent 
remark  at  one  of  those  private  Helmingham  institutions 
known  as  “ thick  teas.”  And  then  Mrs.  Croke  would  say, 
“And  what  like  will  a gell  o’  that  sort  look  to  marry? 
Why,  a man  maun  have  poun’s  and  poun’s  before  she’d  say 
‘ yea  ’ and  buckle  to  ! ” 

But  that  was  a matter  which  Marian  had  already 
decided  upon. 


CHAPTER  IV. 
marian’s  choice. 

At  a time  when  it  seemed  as  though  the  unchildlike 
qualities  which  had  distinguished  the  child  from  her  play- 
mates and  coevals  were  intensifying  and  maturing  in  the 
girl  growing  up,  then,  to  all  appearance,  hard,  calculating, 
and  mercenary,  Marian  Ashurst  fell  in  love,  and  thence- 
forward the  whole  current  of  her  being  was  diverted  into 
healthier  and  more  natural  channels.  Fell  in  love  is  the 
right  and  the  only  description  of  the  process  so  far  as 
Marian  was  concerned.  Of  course  she  had  frequently  dis- 
cussed the  great  question  which  racks  the  hearts  of  board- 
ing-school misses,  and  helps  to  fill  up  the  spare-  time  of 
middle-aged  women,  with  her  young  companions,  had 
listened  with  outward  calmness  and  propriety,  but  with  an 
enormous  amount  of  unshown  cynicism,  to  their  simple 
gushings,  and  had  said  sufficient  to  lead  them  to  believe 
that  she  joined  in  their  fervent  admiration  of  and  aspiration 
for  young  men  with  black  eyes  and  white  hands,  straight 
noses  and  curly  hair.  But  all  the  time  Marian  was  build- 
ing for  herself  a castle  in  the  air,  the  proprietor  of  which, 
whose  wife  she  intended  to  be,  was  a very  different  person 


26 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


from  the  hairdressers’  dummies  whose  regularity  of  feature 
caused  the  hearts  of  her  companions  to  palpitate.  The 
personal  appearance  of  her  future  husband  had  never  given 
her  an  instant’s  care ; she  had  no  preference  in  the  colour 
of  his  eyes  or  hair,  in  his  height,  style,  or  even  of  his  age, 
except  she  thought  she  would  rather  he  were  old.  Being 
old,  he  was  more  likely  to  be  generous,  less  likely  to  be 
selfish,  more  likely  to  have  amassed  riches  and  to  be  wealthy. 
His  fortune  would  be  made,  not  to  be  made ; there  would 
be  no  struggling,  no  self-denial,  no  hope  required.  Marian’s 
domestic  experiences  caused  her  to  hate  anything  in  which 
hope  was  required  ; she  had  been  dosed  with  hope  without 
the  smallest  improvement,  and  had  lost  faith  in  the  treat- 
ment. Marriage  was  the  one  chance  possible  for  her  to 
carry  out  the  dearest,  most  deeply  implanted,  longest- 
cherished  aspiration  of  her  heart— the  acquisition  of  money 
and  power.  She  knew  that  the  possession  of  the  one  led 
to  the  other ; from  the  time  when  she  had  saved  her  school- 
girl pennies  and  had  noticed  the  court  paid  to  her  by  her 
little  friends,  to  the  then  moment  when  the  mere  fact  of 
her  having  a small  stock  of  ready  money,  even  more  than 
her  sense  and  shrewdness,  gave  her  position  in  that  im- 
pecunious household,  she  had  recognised  the  impossibility 
of  achieving  even  a semblance  of  happiness  in  poverty. 
When  she  married,  it  should  be  for  money,  and  for  money 
alone.  In  the  hard  school  of  life  in  which  she  had  been 
trained  she  had  learned  that  the  prize  she  was  aiming  at 
was  a great  one,  and  one  difficult  to  be  obtained ; but  that 
knowledge  only  made  her  the  more  determined  in  its  pur- 
suit. The  difficulties  around  her  were  immense ; in  the 
narrow  circle  in  which  she  lived  she  had  not  any  present 
chances  of  meeting  with  any  person  likely  to  be  able  to 
give  her  the  position  which  she  sought,  far  less  of  rendering 
him  subservient  to  her  wishes.  But  she  waited  and  hoped ; 
she  was  waiting  and  hoping,  calmly  and  quietly  fulfilling 
the  ordinary  duties  of  her  very  ordinary  life,  but  never 
losing  sight  of  her  fixed  intent.  Then  across  the  path  of 
her  life  there  came  a man  who  seemed  to  give  promise  of 


Marian's  choice. 


27 


eventually  fulfilling  the  requirements  she  had  planned  out 
for  herself.  It  was  but  a promise ; there  was  nothing 
tangible ; but  the  promise  was  so  good,  and  the  girl’s  heart 
yearned  for  an  occupant,  for,  with  all  its  hard  teaching  and 
its  worldly  aspirations,  it  was  but  human  after  all.  So 
her  human  heart  and  her  worldly  wisdom  come  to  a com- 
promise in  the  matter  of  her  acceptance  of  a lover,  and  the 
result  of  that  compromise  was  her  engagement  to  Walter 
Joyce. 

When  the  Helmingham  Grammar  School  was  under 
the  misrule  of  old  Dr.  Munch,  then  at  its  lowest  ebb,  and 
nominations  to  the  foundation  were  to  be  had  for  the 
asking,  and,  indeed,  in  many  cases  sent  a-begging,  it 
occurred  to  the  old  head  master  to  offer  one  of  the  vacancies 
to  Mr.  Joyce,  the  principal  grocer  and  maltster  of  the 
village,  whose  son  was  then  just  of  an  age  to  render  him 
accessible  to  the  benefits  of  the  education  which  Sir 
Ranulph  Clinton  had  devised  to  the  youth  of  Helmingham, 
and  which  was  being  so  imperfectly  supplied  to  them  under 
the  auspices  of  Dr.  Munch.  You  must  not  for  an  instant 
imagine  that  the  offer  was  made  by  the  old  doctor  out  of 
pure  lovingkindness  and  magnanimity ; he  looked  at  it,  as 
he  did  at  most  things,  from  a purely  practical  point  of 
view : he  owed  J oyce  the  grocer  so  much  money,  and  if 
Joyce  the  grocer  would  write  him  a receipt  in  full  for  all 
his  indebtedness  in  return  for  a nomination  for  Joyce 
junior,  at  least  he,  the  doctor,  would  not  have  done  a bad 
stroke  of  business.  He  would  have  wiped  out  an  existing 
score,  the  value  of  which  proceeding  meant,  in  Dr.  Munch’s 
eyes,  that  he  would  be  enabled  at  once  to  commence  a fresh 
one,  while  the  acquisition  of  young  Joyce  as  a scholar  would 
not  cause  one  atom  of  difference  in  the  manner  in  which 
the  school  was  conducted,  or  rather,  left  to  conduct  itself. 
The  offer  was  worth  making,  for  the  debt  was  heavy,  though 
the  doctor  was  by  no  means  sure  of  its  being  accepted. 
Andrew  Joyce  was  not  Helmingh  am-born ; he  had  come 
from  Spindleton,  one  of  the  large  inland  capitals,  and  had 
purchased  the  business  which  he  owned.  Ho  was  not 


28 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


popular  among  the  Helmingham  folk,  who  were  all  strict 
church-people  so  far  as  morning-service  attending,  tithe- 
paying, and  parson-respecting  were  concerned,  from  the 
fact  that  his  religious  tendencies  were  suspected  to  be 
what  the  villagers  termed  “ Methodee.”  He  had  his  seat 
in  the  village  church,  it  is  true,  and  put  in  an  appearance 
there  on  the  Sunday  morning ; but  instead  of  spending 
the  Sabbath  evening  in  the  orthodox  way — which  at 
Helmingham  consisted  in  sitting  in  the  best  parlour  with 
a very  dim  light,  and  enjoying  the  blessings  of  sound  sleep 
while  Nelson’s  Fasts  and  Festivals , or  some  equally  proper 
work,  rested  on  the  sleeper’s  knee,  until  it  fell  off  with  a 
crash,  and  was  only  recovered  to  be  held  upside  down  until 
the  grateful  announcement  of  the  arrival  of  supper — Mr. 
Joyce  was  in  the  habit  of  dropping  into  Salem  Chapel, 
where  Mr.  Stoker,  a shining  light  from  the  pottery  district, 
dealt  forth  the  most  uncomfortable  doctrine  in  the  most 
forcible  manner.  The  Helmingham  people  declared,  too, 
that  Andrew  Joyce  was  “uncanny”  in  other  ways;  he 
was  close-fisted  and  niggardly,  his  name  was  to  be  found 
on  no  subscription-list ; he  was  litigious  ; he  declared  that 
Mr.  Prickett,  the  old-fashioned  solicitor  of  the  village,  was 
too  slow  for  him,  and  he  put  his  law-matters  into  the  hands 
of  Messrs.  Sheen  and  Nasmyth,  attorneys  at  Brocksopp,  who 
levied  a distress  before  other  people  had  served  a writ,  and 
who  were  considered  the  sharpest  practitioners  in  the 
county.  Old  Dr.  Munch  had  heard  of  the  process  of 
Messrs.  Sheen  and  Nasmyth,  and  the  dread  of  any  of  it 
being  exercised  on  him  originally  prompted  his  offer  to 
Andrew  Joyce.  He  knew  that  he  might  count  on  an  ally 
in  Andrew  Joyce’s  wife,  a superior  woman,  in  very  delicate 
health,  who  had  great  influence  with  her  husband,  and 
who  was  devoted  to  her  only  son.  Mrs.  Joyce,  when 
Hester  Baines,  had  been  a Bible-class  teacher  in  Spindleton, 
and  had  had  herself  a fair  amount  of  education — would  have 
had  more,  for  she  was  a very  earnest  woman  in  her  vocation, 
ever  striving  to  gain  more  knowledge  herself  for  the  mere 
purpose  of  imparting  it  to  others,  but  from  her  early  youth 


Marian’s  choice. 


29 


she  had  been  fighting  with  a spinal  disease,  to  which  she 
was  gradually  succumbing ; so  that  although  sour  granite- 
faced Andrew  Joyce  was  not  the  exact  helpmate  that  the 
girl  so  full  of  love  and  trust  could  have  chosen  for  herself, 
when  he  offered  her  his  hand  and  his  home,  she  was  glad 
to  avail  herself  of  the  protection  thus  afforded,  and  of  the 
temporary  peace  which  she  could  thus  enjoy  until  called, 
as  she  thought  she  should  be,  very  speedily  to  her  eternal 
rest. 

That  call  did  not  come  nearly  as  soon  as  Hester  Baines 
had  anticipated,  not,  indeed,  until  nearly  a score  of  years 
after  she  gave  up  Bible-teaching,  and  became  Andrew 
Joyce’s  wife.  In  the  second  year  of  her  marriage  a son 
was  born  to  her,  and  thenceforward  she  lived  for  him, 
and  for  him  alone.  He  was  a small,  delicate,  sallow-faced 
boy,  with  enormous  liquid  eyes,  and  rich  red  lips,  and  a 
long  throat,  and  thin  limbs,  and  long  skinny  hands.  A 
shy  retiring  lad,  with  an  invincible  dislike  to  society  of 
any  kind,  even  that  of  other  boys;  with  a hatred  of 
games  and  fun,  and  an  irrepressible  tendency  to  hide 
away  somewhere,  anywhere,  in  an  old  lumber-room  amid 
the  disused  trunks,  and  broken  clothes-horses,  and  general 
lumber,  or  under  the  wide-spreading  branches  of  a tree, 
and  then,  extended,  prone  on  his  stomach,  to  lie  with  his 
head  resting  on  his  hands,  and  a book , flat  between  his 
face- supporting  arms.  He  got  licked  before  he  had  been 
a week  at  the  school,  because  he  openly  stated  he  did  not 
like  half-holidays,  a doctrine  which  when  first  whispered 
among  his  schoolfellows  was  looked  upon  as  incredible, 
but  which,  on  proof  of  its  promulgation,  brought  down 
upon  its  holder  severe  punishment. 

Despite  of  all  Dr.  Munch’s  somnolency  and  neglect, 
despite  of  all  his  class  fellows’  idleness,  ridicule,  or  con- 
tumely, young  Joyce  would  learn,  would  make  progress, 
would  acquire  accurate  information  in  a very  extraordinary 
way.  When  Mr.  Ashurst  assumed  the  reins  of  govern- 
ment at  Helmingham  Grammar  School,  the  proficiency, 
promise,  and  industry  of  Walter  Joyce  were  the  only 


30 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


tilings  that  gave  the  new  dominie  the  smallest  gleam  of 
interest  in  his  fresh  avocation.  With  the  advent  of  the 
new  head  master  Walter  Joyce  entered  upon  another 
career ; for  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  found  some  one  to 
appreciate  him,  some  one  who  could  understand  his  work, 
praise  what  he  had  done,  and  encourage  him  to  greater 
efforts.  This  had  hitherto  been  wanting  in  the  young 
man’s  life.  His  father  liked  to  know  that  the  boy  “ stuck 
to  his  book ; ” but  was  at  last  incapable  of  understanding 
what  that  sticking  to  the  book  produced  ; and  his  mother, 
though  conscious  that  her  son  possessed  talent  such  as  she 
had  always  coveted  for  him,  had  no  idea  of  the  real  extent 
of  his  learning.  James  Ashurst  was  the  only  one  in 
Helmingham  who  could  rate  his  scholar’s  gifts  at  their 
proper  value,  and  the  dominie’s  kind  heart  yearned  with 
delight  at  the  prospect  of  raising  such  a creditable  flower 
of  learning  in  such  unpromising  soil.  He  busied  himself, 
not  merely  with  the  young  man’s  present  but  with  his 
future.  It  was  his  greatest  hope  that  one  of  the  scholar- 
ships at  his  old  college  should  be  gained  by  a pupil  from 
Helmingham,  and  that  that  pupil  should  be  Walter  Joyce. 
Mr.  Ashurst  had  been  in  communication  with  the  college 
authorities  on  the  subject;  he  had  obtained  a very  un- 
willing assent — an  assent  that  would  have  been  a refusal 
had  it  not  been  for  Mrs.  Joyce’s  influence — from  Walter’s 
father  that  he  would  give  his  son  an  adequate  sum  for  his 
maintenance  at  the  University,  and  he  was  looking  for- 
ward to  a quick-coming  time  when  a scholarship  should 
be  vacant,  for  which  he  was  certain  Walter  had  a most 
excellent  chance,  when  Mrs.  Joyce  had  a fit  and  died. 

From  that  time  forth  Andrew  Joyce  was  a changed 
man.  He  had  loved  his  wife  in  his  grim,  sour,  puritanical 
way,  loved  her  sufficiently  to  strive  against  this  grimness 
and  puritanism  to  the  extent  of  his  consenting  to  live  for 
the  most  part  from  the  ordinary  fashion  of  the  world. 
But  when  that  gentle  influence  was  once  removed,  when 
the  hard-headed,  narrow-minded  man  had  no  longer  the 
soft  answer  to  turn  away  his  wrath,  the  soft  face  to  look 


marian’s  choice, 


31 


appealingly  up  against  his  harsh  judgment,  the  quick 
intellect  to  combat  his  one-sided  dogmatisms,  he  fell  away 
at  once,  and  blossomed  out  as  the  bitter  bigot  into  which 
he  had  gradually  but  surely  been  growing.  No  college 
education  for  his  son  then ; no  assistance  from  him  for  a 
bloated  hierarchy,  as  he  remarked  at  a public  meeting, 
glancing  at  Mr.  Sifton,  the  curate,  who  had  eighty  pounds 
a year  and  four  children ; no  money  of  his  to  be  spent  by 
his  son  in  a dissolute  and  debauched  career  at  the  Uni- 
versity. Mr.  Stoker  had  not  been  at  any  university — as, 
indeed,  he  had  not,  having  picked  up  most  of  his  limited 
education  from  a travelling  tinker,  who  combined  pot- 
mending and  knife-grinding  with  Bible  and  tract  selling; 
— and  where  would  you  meet  with  a better  preacher  of 
the  Gawspel,  a more  shining  light,  or  a cornel ier  vessel  ? 
Mr.  Stoker  was  all  in  all  to  Andrew  Joyce  then,  and 
when  Andrew  Joyce  died,  six  months  afterwards,  it  was 
found  that,  with  the  exception  of  the  legacy  of  a couple 
of  hundred  pounds  to  his  son,  he  had  left  all  his  money  to 
Mr.  Stoker,  and  to  the  chapel  and  charities  represented  by 
that  erudite  divine. 

It  was  a sad  blow  to'  Walter  Joyce,  and  almost  as 
sharp  a one  to  James  Ashurst.  The  two  men — Walter 
was  a man  now — grieved  together  over  the  overturned 
hopes  and  the  extinguished  ambition.  It  was  impossible 
for  Walter  to  attempt  to  go  to  college  just  then.  There 
was  no  scholarship  vacant,  and  if  there  had  been,  the 
amount  to  be  won  might  probably  have  been  insufficient 
even  for  this  modest  youth.  There  was  no  help  for  it ; 

he  must  give  up  the  idea.  What,  then,  was  he  to  do? 

Mr.  Ashurst  answered  that  in  his  usual  impulsive  way. 
Walter  should  become  under  master  in  the  school.  The 
number  of  boys  had  increased  immensely.  There  was 
more  work  than  he  and  Dr.  Breitmann  could  manage ; oh 
yes,  he  was  sure  of  it — he  had  thought  so  a long  time  ; and 
Walter  should  become  third  classical  master,  with  a salary 
of  sixty  pounds  a year,  and  board  and  lodging  in  Mr. 

Ashurst’s  house.  It  was  a rash  and  wild  suggestion,  just 


32 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


likely  to  emanate  from  sueli  a man  as  James  Ashurst. 
The  number  of  boys  had  increased,  and  Mr.  Ashurst’s 
energy  had  decreased;  but  there  was  Dr.  Breitmann,  a 
kindly,  well-read,  well-educated  doctor  of  philosophy, 
from  Leipzig ; a fine  classical  scholar,  though  he  pro- 
nounced “ amo  ” as  “ ahmo,”  and  “ Dido  ” as  “ Taito,”  a 
gentleman,  though  his  clothes  were  threadbare,  and  he 
only  ate  meat  once  a week,  and  sometimes  not  then  unless 
he  were  asked  out,  and  a disciplinarian,  though  he  smoked 
like  a limekiln ; a habit  which  in  the  Helmingham 
schoolboys’  eyes  proclaimed  the  confirmed  debauchee  of 
the  Giovanni  or  man-about-town  type.  Walter  Joyce  had 
been  a favourite  pupil  of  the  doctor’s,  and  was  welcomed 
as  a colleague  by  his  old  tutor  with  the  utmost  warmth. 
It  was  understood  that  his  engagement  was  only  tem- 
porary; he  would  soon  have  enough  money  to  enable 
him,  with  a scholarship,  to  astonish  the  University,  and 

then Meanwhile  Mr.  Ashurst  and  all  around  repeated 

that  his  talents  were  marvellous,  and  his  future  success 
indisputable. 

That  was  the  reason  why  Marian  Ashurst  fell  in  love 
with  him.  As  has  before  been  said,  she  thought  nothing 
of  outward  appearance,  although  Walter  Joyce  had  grown 
into  a sufficiently  comely  man,  small  indeed,  but  with  fine 
eyes  and  an  eloquent  mouth,  and  a neatly  turned  figure ; 
nor,  though  a refined  and  educated  girl,  did  she  estimate 
his  talents  save  for  what  they  would  bring.  He  was  to 
make  a success  in  his  future  life ; that  was  what  she 
thought  of — her  father  said  so,  and  so  far,  in  matters  of 
cleverness  and  book-learning,  and  so  on,  her  father’s 
opinion  was  worth  something.  Walter  Joyce  was  to 
make  money  and  position,  the  two  things  of  which  she 
thought,  and  dreamed,  and  hoped  for  night  and  day. 
There  was  no  one  else  among  her  acquaintance  with  his 
power.  No  farmer  within  the  memory  of  living  gene- 
rations had  done  more  to  keep  up  the  homestead  be- 
queathed to  him  whilst  attempting  to  increase  the  number 
or  the  value  of  his  fields,  and  even  the  gratification  of  her 


Marian’s  choice. 


33 


love  of  money  would  have  been  but  a poor  compensation 
to  a girl  of  Marian’s  innate  good  breeding  and  refinement 
for  being  compelled  to  pass  her  life  in  the  society  of  a 
boor  or  a churl.  No!  Walter  Joyce  combined  the  ad- 
vantage of  education  and  good  looks  with  the  prospect 
of  attaining  wealth  and  distinction  : he  was  her  father’s 
favourite,  and  was  well  thought  of  by  everybody,  and — 
and  she  loved  him  very  much,  and  was  delighted  to  com- 
fort herself  with  the  thought  that  in  doing  so  she  had 
not  sacrificed  any  of  what  she  was  pleased  to  consider  the 
guiding  principles  of  her  life. 

And  he,  Walter  Joyce,  did  he  reciprocate — was  he  in 
love  with  Marian  ? Has  it  ever  been  your  lot  to  see  an 
ugly  or,  better  still,  what  is  called  an  ordinary  man — for 
ugliness  has  become  fashionable  both  in  fiction  and  in 
society — to  see  an  ordinary-looking  man,  hitherto  politely 
ignored,  if  not  snubbed,  suddenly  taken  special  notice  of  by 
a handsome  woman,  a recognised  leader  of  the  set,  who, 
for  some  special  purpose  of  her  own,  suddenly  discovering 
that  he  has  brains,  or  conversational  power,  or  some 
peculiar  fascination,  singles  him  out  from  the  surrounding 
ruck,  steeps  him  in  the  sunlight  of  her  eyes,  and 
intoxicates  him  with  the  subtle  wiles  of  her  address  ? It 
does  one  good,  it  acts  as  a moral  shower-bath,  to  see  such 
a man  under  such  circumstances.  Your  fine  fellow  simpers 
and  purrs  for  a moment,  and  takes  it  all  as  real  legitimate 
homage  to  his  beauty ; but  the  ordinary  man  cannot,  so 
soon  as  he  has  got  over  his  surprise  at  the  sensation, 
cannot  be  too  grateful,  cannot  find  ways  and  means 
— cumbrous  frequently  and  ungraceful,  but  eminently 
sincere — of  showing  his  appreciation  of  his  patroness. 
Thus  it  was  with  Walter  Joyce.  The  knowledge  that  he 
was  a grocer’s  son  had  added  immensely  to  the  original 
shyness  and  sensitiveness  of  his  disposition,  and  the  free 
manner  in  which  his  small  and  delicate  personal  appearance 
had  been  made  the  butt  of  outspoken  “chaff”  of  the 
schoolboys  had  made  him  singularly  misogynistic.  Since 
the  early  days  of  his  youth,  when  he  had  been  compelled  to 


34 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


give  a very  unwilling  attendance  twice  a week  at  the 
dancing  academy  of  Mr.  Hardy,  where  the  boys  of  the  Hel- 
mingham  Grammar  School  had  their  manners  softened,  nor 
were  suffered  to  become  brutal,  by  the  study  of  the  Terp- 
sichorean  art,  in  the  company  of  the  young  ladies  from  the 
Misses  Le  wins’  establishment,  Walter  Joyce  had  resolutely 
eschewed  any  and  every  charge  of  mixing  in  female 
society.  He  knew  nothing  of  it,  and  pretended  to  despise 
it.  It  is  needless  to  say,  therefore,  that  so  soon  as  he  was 
brought  into  daily  communication  with  a girl  like  Marian 
Ashurst,  possessed  both  of  beauty  and  refinement,  he  fell 
hopelessly  in  love  with  her,  and  gave  up  every  thought, 
idea,  and  hope,  save  that  in  which  she  bore  a part.  She 
was  his  goddess,  and  he  would  worship  her  humbly  and 
at  a distance.  It  would  be  sufficient  for  him  to  touch  the 
hem  of  her  robe,  to  hear  the  sound  of  her  voice,  to  gaze  at 
her  with  big  dilated  eyes,  which — not  that  he  knew  it — 
were  eloquent  with  love,  and  tenderness,  and  worship. 

Their  love  was  known  to  each  other,  and  to  but  very 
few  else.  Mr.  Ashurst,  looking  up  from  his  newspaper  in 
the  blessed  interval  between  the  departure  of  the  boys  to 
bed  and  the  modest  little  supper,  the  only  meal  which  the 
family — in  which  Joyce  was  included — had  in  private, 
may  have  noticed  the  figures  of  his  daughter  and  his 
usher,  not  his  favourite  pupil,  lingering  in  the  deepening 
twilight  round  the  lawn,  or  seen  “ their  plighted  shadows 
blended  into  one  ” in  the  soft  rays  of  the  moonlight. 
But  if  he  thought  anything  about  it,  he  never  made  any 
remark.  Life  was  very  hard  and  very  earnest  with  James 
Ashurst,  and  he  may  have  found  something  softening  and 
pleasing  in  this  little  bit  of  romance,  something  which  he 
may  have  wished  to  leave  undisturbed  by  worldly  sugges- 
tions or  practical  hints.  Or,  he  may  have  had  his  idea 
of  what  was  actually  going  on.  A man  with  an  incipient 
disease  beginning  to  tell  upon  him,  with  a sickly  wife, 
and  a perpetual  striving  not  merely  to  make  both  ends 
meet,  but  to  prevent  them  bursting  so  wide  asunder  as  to 
leave  a gap  through  which  he  must  inevitably  fall  into 


MARIAN'S  CHOICE. 


35 


ruin  between  them,  has  but  little  time,  or  opportunity, 
or  inclination,  for  observing  narrowly  the  conduct  even  of 
those  near  and  dear  to  him.  Mrs.  Ashurst,  in  her  invalid 
state,  was  only  too  glad  to  think  that  the  few  hours  which 
Marian  took  in  respite  for  attendance  on  her  mother  were 
pleasantly  employed,  to  inquire  where  or  in  whose  society 
they  were  passed — neither  Marian’s  family  nor  J oyce  kept 
any  company  by  whom  their  absence  would  be  missed ; 
and  as  for  the  villagers,  they  had  fully  made  up  their  minds 
on  the  one  side  that  Marian  was  determined  to  make  a 
splendid  match ; on  the  other,  that  the  mere  fact  of 
Walter  Joyce’s  scholarship  was  so  great  as  to  incapacitate 
him  from  the  pursuit  of  ordinary  human  frailties  : so  that 
not  the  ghost  of  a speculation  as  to  the  relative  position  of 
the  couple  had  arisen  amongst  them.  And  the  two  young 
people  loved,  and  hoped,  and  erected  their  little  castles  in 
the  air,  which  were  palatial  indeed  as  hope-depicted  by 
Marian,  though  less  ambitious  as  limned  by  Walter  Joyce, 
when  Mr.  Ashurst’s  death  came  upon  them  like  a thunder- 
bolt, and  blew  their  unsubstantial  edifices  into  the  air. 

See  them  here  on  this  calm  summer  evening,  pacing 
round  and  round  the  lawn,  as  they  used  to  do,  in  the  old 
days  already  ages  ago  as  it  seems,  when  James  Ashurst, 
newspaper  in  hand,  would  throw  occasional  glances  at 
them  from  the  study  window.  Marian,  instead  of  letting 
her  fingers  lightly  touch  her  companion’s  wrist,  as  is 
her  wont,  has  passed  her  arms  through  his,  and  her  fingers 
are  clasped  together  round  it,  and  she  looks  up  in  his  face, 
as  they  come  to  a standstill  beneath  the  big  outspread 
branches  of  the  old  oak,  with  an  earnest  tearful  gaze  such 
as  she  has  seldom,  if  ever,  worn  before.  There  must  be 
matter  of  moment  between  these  two  just  now,  for  Joyce’s 
face  looks  wan  and  worn ; there  are  deep  hollows  beneath 
his  large  eyes,  and  he  strives  ineffectually  to  conceal,  with 
an  occasional  movement  of  his  hand,  the  rapid  anxious 
play  of  the  muscles  round  his  mouth.  Marian  is  the  first 
to  speak. 


36 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


“ And  so  you  take  Mr.  Benthall’s  decision  as  final, 
Walter,  and  are  determined  to  go  to  London?  ” 

“ Darling,  what  else  can  I do  ? Here  is  Mr.  Benthall’s 
letter,  in  which  he  tells  me  that,  without  the  least  wish  to 
disturb  me — a mere  polite  phrase  that — he  shall  bring  his 
own  assistant  master  to  Helmingham.  He  writes  and 
means  kindly,  I’ve  no  doubt — but  here’s  the  fact ! ” 

“ Oh  yes,  I’m  sure  he’s  a gentleman,  Walter ; his  letter 
to  mamma  proves  that,  offering  to  defer  his  arrival  at  the 
school-house  until  our  own  time.  Of  course  that  is 
impossible,  and  we  go  into  Mrs.  Swainson’s  lodgings  at 
once.” 

“ My  dearest  Marian,  my  own  pet,  I hate  to  think  of 
you  in  lodgings  ; I cannot  bear  to  picture  you  so  ! ” 

“ You  must  make  haste  to  get  your  position,  and  take 
me  to  share  it,  then,  Walter  ! ” said  the  girl,  with  a half- 
melancholy smile ; “ you  must  do  great  things,  Walter. 
Dear  papa  always  said  you  would,  and  you  must  prove 
how  right  he  was.” 

“ Dearest,  your  poor  father  calculated  on  my  success  at 
college  for  the  furtherance  of  my  fortune,  and  now 
all  that  chance  is  over ! Whatever  I do  now  must 
be ” 

“ By  the  aid  of  your  own  talent  and  industry,  exactly 
the  same  appliances  which  you  had  to  rely  on  if  you  had 
gone  to  the  University,  Walter.  You  don’t  fear  the 
result?  You’re  not  alarmed  and  desponding  at  the  turn 
which  affairs  have  taken  ? It’s  impossible  you  can  fail  to 
attain  distinction,  and — and  money  and — and  position,  - 
Walter — you  must, — don’t  you  feel  it  ?— you  must ! ” 

“ Yes,  dear,  I feel  it ; I hope — I think ; perhaps  not  so 
strongly,  so  enthusiastically  as  you  do.  You  see, — don’t 
be  downcast,  Marian,  but  it’s  best  to  look  these  things  in 
the  face,  darling  ! — all  I can  try  to  get  is  a tutor’s,  or  an 
usher’s,  or  a secretary’s  place,  and  in  any  of  these  the  want 
of  the  University  stamp  is  heavily  against  me.  There’s  no 
disguising  that,  Marian  ! ” 

“ Oh,  indeed ; is  that  so  ? ” 


MARIAN  S CHOICE. 


37 


“ Yes,  child,  undoubtedly.  The  University  degree  is 
like  the  Hall-mark  in  silver,  and  I’m  afraid  I shall 
find  very  few  persons  willing  to  accept  me  as  the  genuine 
article  without  it.” 

“ And  all  this  risk  might  have  been  avoided  if  your 
father  had  only ” 

“Well,  yes;  but  then,  Marian  darling,  if  my  father 
had  left  me  money  to  go  to  college  immediately  on  his 
death  I should  never  have  known  you — known  you,  I 
mean,  as  you  are,  the  dearest  and  sweetest  of  women.” 

He  drew  her  to  him  as  he  spoke,  and  pressed  his  lips  on 
her  forehead.  She  received  the  kiss  without  any  undue 
emotion,  and  said — 

“ Perhaps  that  had  been  for  the  best,  Walter.” 

“ Marian,  that’s  rank  blasphemy.  Fancy  my  hearing 
that,  especially,  too,  on  the  night  of  my  parting  with  you ! 
No,  my  darling,  all  I want  you  to  have  is  hope,  hope  and 
courage,  and  not  too  much  ambition,  dearest.  Mine  has 
been  comparatively  but  a lotus-eating  existence  hitherto; 
to-morrow  I begin  the  battle  of  life.” 

“ But  slightly  armed  for  the  conflict,  my  poor  Walter.” 
“ I don’t  allow  that,  Marian.  Youth,  health,  and 
energy  are  not  bad  weapons  to  have  on  one’s  side,  and  with 

your  love  in  the  background ” 

“ And  the  chance  of  achieving  fame  and  fortune  for 
yourself — keep  that  in  the  foreground  ! ” 

“ That  is  to  me,  in  every  way,  less  than  the  other ; but 

it  is,  of  course,  an  additional  spur.  And  now ? ” 

And  then  ? When  two  lovers  are  on  the  eve  of  parting, 
their  conversation  is  scarcely  very  interesting  to  any  one 
else.  Marian  and  Walter  talked  the  usual  pleasant  non- 
sense, and  vowed  the  usual  constancy,  took  four  separate 
farewells  of  each  other,  and  parted  with  broken  accents 
and  lingering  hand-clasps,  and  streaming  eyes.  But  when 
Marian  Ashurst  sat  before  her  toilet-glass  that  night  in  the 
room  which  had  so  long  been  her  own,  and  which  she  was 
so  soon  to  vacate,  she  thought  of  what  Walter  Joyce  had 
said  as  to  his  future,  and  wondered  whether,  after  all,  she 


38 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


had  not  miscalculated  the  strength,  not  the  courage,  of  the 
knight  whom  she  had  selected  to  wear  her  colours  in  his 
helm  in  the  great  contest. 


CHAPTER  Y. 

WOOLGREAYES. 

“ You  will  be  better  when  you  have  made  the  effort, 
mother,”  said  Marian  Ashurst  to  the  widow,  one  day,  when 
the  beauty  of  the  summer  was  at  its  height,  and  death  and 
grief  seemed  very  hard  to  bear,  in  the  face  of  the  unsym- 
pathising  sunshine.  “ Don’t  think  I underrate  the  effort, 
for  indeed  I don’t,  but  you  will  be  better  when  you  have 
made  it.” 

“ Perhaps  so,  my  dear,”  said  Mrs.  Ashurst,  with  re- 
luctant submissiveness.  “ You  are  right ; I am  sure  you 
always  are  right ; but  it  is  so  little  use  to  go  to  any  place 
where  one  can’t  enjoy  one’s  self,  and  where  everybody  must 

see  that  it  is  impossible  ; and  you  have — you  know ” 

Her  lips  trembled,  her  voice  broke.  Her  little  hands,  still 
soft  and  pretty,  twined  themselves  together,  with  an  ex- 
pression of  pain.  Then  she  said  no  more. 

Marian  had  been  standing  by  the  open  window,  look- 
ing out,  the  side  of  her  head  turned  to  her  mother,  who 
was  glancing  at  her  timidly.  Now  she  crossed  the  room, 
with  a quick  steady  step,  and  knelt  down  by  Mrs.  Ashurst’s 
chair,  clasping  her  hands  upon  the  arm. 

“ Listen  to  me,  dear,”  she  said,  with  her  clear  eyes 
fixed  on  her  mother’s  face,  and  her  voice,  though  softened 
to  a tone  of  the  utmost  tenderness,  firm  and  decided. 
“You  must  never  forget  that  I know  exactly  what  and 
how  much  you  feel,  and  that  I share  it  all  ” (there  was  a 
forlornness  in  the  girl’s  face  which  bore  ample  testimony 
to  the  truth  of  what  she  said)  “ when  I tell  you,  in  my 
practical  way,  what  we  must  do.  You  remember,  once, 


WOOLGREAVES. 


39 


then,  you  spoke  to  me  about  the  Creswells,  and  I made 
light  of  them  and  their  importance  and  influence.  I 
would  not  admit  it ; I did  not  understand  it.  I had  not 
fully  thought  about  it  then ; but  I admit  it  now.  I 
understand  it  now,  and  it  is  my  turn  to  tell  you,  my 
dearest  mother,  that  we  must  be  civil  to  them ; we  must 
take,  or  seem  to  take,  their  offers  of  kindness,  of  protection, 
of  intimacy,  as  they  are  made.  We  cannot  afford  to  do 
otherwise,  and  they  are  just  the  sort  of  people  to  be 
offended  with  us  irreparably,  if  we  did  not  allow  them  to 
extend  their  hospitality  to  us.  It  is  rather  officious,  rather 
ostentatious;  it  has  all  the  bitterness  of  making  us  re- 
member more  keenly  what  they  might  have  done  for  us, 
but  it  is  hospitality,  and  we  need  it ; it  is  the  promise  of 
further  services  which  we  shall  require  urgently.  You 
must  rouse  yourself,  mother ; this  must  be  your  share  of 
helpfulness  to  me  in  the  burden  of  our  life.  And,  after 
all,  what  does  it  matter?  What  real  difference  does  it 
make  ? My  father  is  as  much  present  to  you  and  to  me  in 
one  place  as  in  another.  Nothing  can  alter,  or  modify,  or 
soften ; nothing  can  deepen  or  embitter  that  truth.  Come 
with  me — the  effort  will  repay  itself.” 

Mrs.  Ashurst  had  begun  to  look  more  resolved,  before 
her  daughter,  who  had  spoken  with  more  than  her  usual 
earnestness  and  decision,  had  come  to  an  end  of  her 
argument.  She  put  her  arm  round  the  girl’s  neck,  and 
gave  her  a timid  squeeze,  and  then  half  rose,  as  though 
she  were  ready  to  go  with  her,  anywhere  she  chose,  that 
very  minute.  Then  Marian,  without  asking  another  word 
on  the  subject,  busied  herself  about  her  mother’s  dress, 
arranging  the  widow’s  heavy  sombre  drapery  with  a deft 
hand,  and  talking  about  the  weather,  the  pleasantness  of 
their  projected  walk,  and  the  daily  dole  of  Helmingham 
gossip.  Marian  cared  little  for  gossip  of  any  kind  herself, 
but  it  was  a godsend  to  her  sometimes,  when  she  had 
particular  reasons  for  not  talking  to  her  mother  of  the 
things  that  were  in  her  mind,  and  did  not  find  it  easy  to 
invent  other  things  to  talk  to  her  about. 


40 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


The  object  which  Marian  had  in  view  just  now,  and 
which  she  had  had  some  difficulty  in  attaining,  was  the 
inducing  of  her  mother,  who  had  passed  the  time  since  her 
bereavement  in  utter  seclusion,  to  accept  the  invitation  of 
Mr.  Creswell,  the  owner  of  Woolgreaves,  the  local  grandee 
par  excellence , the  person  whose  absence  Marian  had  so 
lamented  on  the  occasion  of  her  father’s  illness,  to  pass  “ a 
long  day  ” with  him  and  his  nieces.  It  was  not  the  first 
time  such  an  invitation  had  reached  Mrs.  Ashnrst.  Their 
rich  neighbour,  the  dead  schoolmaster’s  friend,  had  not 
been  neglectful  of  the  widow  and  her  daughter,  but  it  was 
the  first  time  Marian  had  made  up  her  mind  that  this 
advance  on  his  part  must  be  met  and  welcomed.  She  had 
as  much  reluctance  to  break  through  the  seclusion  of  their 
life  as  her  mother,  though  of  a somewhat  different  stamp; 
but  she  had  been  pondering  and  calculating,  while  her 
mother  had  been  only  thinking  and  suffering,  and  she  had 
decided  that  it  must  be  done.  She  did  not  doubt  that  she 
should  suffer  more  in  the  acting  upon  this  decision  than 
her  mother ; but  it  was  made,  and  must  be  acted  upon. 
So  Marian  took  her  mother  to  Woolgreaves.  Mr.  Creswell 
had  offered  to  send  a carriage  (he  rather  liked  the  use  of 
the  indefinite  article,  which  implied  the  extent  of  his 
establishment)  to  fetch  the  ladies,  but  Marian  had  declined 
this.  The  walk  would  do  her  mother  good,  and  brace  her 
nerves ; she  meant  to  talk  to  her  easily,  with  seeming 
carelessness,  of  the  possibilities  of  the  future,  on  the  way. 
At  length  Mrs.  Ashurst  was  ready,  and  her  daughter  .and 
she  set  forth,  in  the  direction  of  the  distressingly  modern, 
but  really  imposing,  mansion,  which,  for  the  first  time, 
they  approached,  unsupported  by  him,  in  whose  presence 
it  had  never  occurred  to  them  to  suffer  from  any  feeling  of 
inferiority  of  position  or  means,  or  to  believe  that  any  one 
could  regard  them  in  a slighting  manner. 

Mr.  Creswell,  of  Woolgreaves,  had  entertained  a sincere 
regard,  built  on  profound  respect,  for  Mr.  Ashurst.  He 
knew  the  inferiority  of  his  own  mind,  and  his  own  educa- 
tion, to  those  of  the  man  who  had  contentedly  and 


WOOLGREAVES. 


41 


laboriously  filled  so  humble  a position — one  so  unworthy 
of  his  talents,  as  well  as  he  knew  the  superiority  of  his  own 
business  abilities,  the  difference  which  had  made  him  a 
rich  man,  and  which  would,  under  any  circumstances,  have 
kept  Mr.  Ashurst  poor.  He  was  a man  possessed  of  much 
candour  of  mind  and  sound  judgment ; and  though  he  pre- 
ferred, quite  sincerely,  the  practical  ability  which  had 
made  him  what  he  was,  and  heartily  enjoyed  all  the 
material  advantages  and  pleasures  of  his  life,  he  was 
capable  of  profound  admiration  for  such  unattainable 
things  as  taste,  learning,  and  the  indefinable  moral  and 
personal  elements  which  combine  to  form  a scholar  and  a 
gentleman.  He  was  a commonplace  man  in  every  other 
respect  than  this,  that  he  m,ost  sincerely  despised  and 
detested  flattery,  and  was  incapable  of  being  deceived  by 
it.  He  had  not  failed  to  understand  that  it  would  have 
been  as  impossible  to  James  Ashurst  to  flatter  as  to  rob 
him ; and  for  this  reason,  as  well  as  for  the  superiority  he 
had  so  fully  recognised,  he  had  felt  warm  and  abiding 
friendship  for  him,  and  lamented  his  death,  as  he  had  not 
mourned  any  accident  of  mortality  since  the  day  which 
had  seen  his  prelty  young  wife  laid  in  her  early  grave. 
Mr.  Creswell,  a poor  man  in  those  days,  struggling  man- 
fully very  far  down  on  the  ladder,  which  he  had  since 
climbed  with  the  ease  which  not  unfrequently  attends 
effort,  when  something  has  happened  to  decrease  the  value 
of  success,  had  loved  his  pretty,  uneducated,  merry  little 
wife  very  much,  and  had  felt  for  a while  after  she  died, 
that  he  was  not  sure  whether  anything  was  worth  working 
or  striving  for.  But  his  constitutional  activity  of  mind 
and  body  had  got  the  better  of  that  sort  of  feeling,  and  he 
had  worked  and  striven  to  remarkably  good  purpose ; but 
he  had  never  asked  another  woman  to  share  his  fortunes. 

This  was  not  altogether  occasioned  by  lingering  regret 
for  his  pretty  Jenny.  He  was  not  of  a sentimental  turn 
of  mind,  and  he  might  even  have  been  brought  to  acknow- 
ledge, reluctantly,  that  his  wife  would  probably  have  been 
much  out  of  place  in  the  fine  house,  and  at  the  head  of  the 


42 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


luxurious  establishment  which  his  wealth  had  formed. 
She  was  humbly  born,  like  himself,  had  not  been  ambitious, 
except  of  love  and  happiness,  and  had  had  no  better  educa- 
tion than  enabled  her  to  read  and  write,  not  so  perfectly 
as  to  foster  in  her  a taste  for  either  occupation.  If  Mr. 
Creswell  had  a sorrowful  remembrance  of  her  sometimes, 
it  died  away  with  the  reflection  that  she  had  been  happy 
while  she  lived,  and  would  not  have  been  so  happy  now. 
His  continued  bachelor  estate  was  occasioned  rather  by  his 
close  and  engrossing  attention  to  the  interests  of  his  busi- 
ness, and,  perhaps,  also  to  the  narrow  social  circle  in  which 
he  lived.  Pretty,  uneducated,  simple  young  country 
women  will  retain  their  power  of  pleasing  men  who  have 
acquired  education,  and  made  mone}7,  and  so  elevated 
themselves  far  above  their  original  station;  but  the  in- 
fluence of  education  and  wealth  upon  the  tastes  of  men  of 
this  sort  is  inimical  to  the  chances  of  the  young  women  of 
the  classes  in  society  among  which  they  habitually  find 
their  associates.  The  women  of  the  44  well-to-do  ” world 
are  unattractive  to  those  men,  who  have  not  been  born  in 
it.  Such  men  either  retain  the  predilections  of  their  youth 
for  women  like  those  whose  girlhood  they  remember,  or 
cherish  ambitious  aspirations  towards  the  inimitable,  not 
to  be  borrowed  or  imported,  refinement  of  the  women  of 
social  spheres  far  above  them. 

The  former  was  Mr.  CreswelPs  case,  in  as  far  as  any- 
thing except  business  can  be  said  to  have  been  active  in 
his  affairs.  The  44 ladies’’  in  the  Helmingham  district 
were  utterly  uninteresting  to  him,  and  he  had  made  that 
fact  so  evident  long  ago  that  they  had  accepted  it;  of 
course  regarding  him  as  an  44  oddity,”  and  much  to  be 
pitied ; and  since  his  nieces  had  taken  up  their  abode,  on 
the  death  of  their  father,  Mr.  Creswell’s  only  brother,  at 
Woolgreaves,  a matrimonial  development  in  Mr.  Creswell’s 
career  had  been  regarded  as  an  impossibility.  The  owner 
of  Woolgreaves  was  voted  by  general  feminine  consent 44  a 
dear  old  thing,”  and  a very  good  neighbour,  and  the  ladies 
only  hoped  he  might  not  have  trouble  before  him  with 


WOOLGREAVES. 


43 


“ that  pickle,  young  Tom,”  and  were  glad  to  think  no  poor 
woman  had  been  induced  to  put  herself  in  for  such  a life 
as  that  of  Tom’s  step-mother  would  have  been. 

Mr.  Creswell’s  only  brother  had  belonged,  not  to  the 
“ well-to-do  ” community,  but,  on  the  contrary,  to  that  of 
the  “ ne’er-do-weels,”  and  he  had  died  without  a shilling, 
heavily  in  debt,  and  leaving  two  helpless  girls — sufficiently 
delicately  nurtured  to  feel  their  destitution  with  keenness 
amounting  to  despair,  and  sufficiently  “ fashionably,”  i.e . 
ill,  educated  to  be  wholly  incapable  of  helping  themselves 
— to  the  mercy  of  the  world.  The  contemplation  of  this 
contingency,  for  which  he  had  plenty  of  leisure,  for  he 
died  of  a lingering  illness,  did  not  appear  to  have  dis- 
tressed Tom  Creswell.  lie  had  believed  in  “ luck  ” all  his 
life,  with  the  touching  devotion  of  a selfish  man  who 
defines  “ luck  ” as  the  making  of  things  comfortable  for 
himself,  and  is  not  troubled  with  visions  of,  after  him,  the 
modern  version  of  the  deluge,  which  takes  the  squalid  form 
of  the  pawnbroker’s  and  the  poor-house ; and  “ luck  ” had 
lasted  his  time.  It  had  even  survived  him,  so  far  as  his 
children  were  concerned,  for  his  brother,  who  had  quar- 
relled with  him,  more  from  policy  and  of  deliberate  interest, 
regarding  him  as  a hopeless  spendthrift,  the  helping  of 
whom  was  a useless  extravagance,  than  from  anger  or 
disgust,  came  to  the  aid  of  the  widow  anc).  her  children, 
when  he  found  that  things  were  very  much  worse  than  he 
had  supposed  they  would  prove  to  be. 

Mrs.  Tom  Creswell  afforded  a living  example  of  her 
husband’s  “ luck.”  She  was  a mild,  gentle,  very  silly,  very 
self-denying,  estimable  woman,  who  loved  the  “ ne’er-do- 
weel”  so  literally  with  all  her  heart  that  when  he  died  she 
had  not  enough  of  that  organ  left  to  go  on  living  with.  She 
did  not  see  why  she  should  try,  and  she  did  not  try,  but 
quietly  died  in  a few  months,  to  the  astonishment  of 
rational  people,  who  declared  that  Tom  Creswell  was  a 
“ good  loss,”  and  had  never  been  of  the  least  use  either  to 
himself  or  any  other  human  being.  What  on  earth  was 
the  woman  about?  Was  she  such  an  idiot  as  not  to  see  his 


44 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


faults  ? Did  she  not  know’  what  a selfish,  idle,  extrava- 
gant, worthless  fellow  he  was,  and  that  he  had  left  her 
to  either  pauperism  or  dependence  on  any  one  who  would 
support  her,  quite  complacently  ? If  such  a husband  as  he 
was — what  she  had  seen  in  him  beyond  his  handsome  face 
and  his  pleasant  manner,  they  could  not  tell — was  to  be 
honoured  in  this  way,  gone  quite  daft  about,  in  fact,  they 
really  could  not  perceive  the  advantage  to  men  in  being 
active,  industrious,  saving,  prudent,  and  domestic.  Nothing 
could  be  more  true,  more  reasonable,  more  unanswerable, 
or  more  ineffectual.  Mrs.  Tom  Ores  well  did  not  dispute 
it ; she  patiently  endured  much  bullying  by  strong-minded, 
tract-dropping  females  of  the  spinster  persuasion  ; she  was 
quite  satisfied  to  be  told  she  had  proved  herself  unworthy 
of  a better  husband.  She  did  not  murmur  as  it  was 
proved  to  her,  in  the  fiercest  forms  of  accurate  arithmetic, 
that  her  Tom  had  squandered  sums  which  might  have  pro- 
vided for  her  and  her  children  decently,  and  had  not  even 
practised  the  poor  self-denial  of  paying  for  an  insurance  on 
his  life.  She  contradicted  no  one,  she  rebuked  no  one,  she 
asked  forbearance  and  pity  from  no  one;  she  merely  wept 
and  said  she  was  sure  her  brother-in-law  would  be  kind  to 
the  girls,  and  that  she  would  not  like  to  be  a trouble  to  Mr. 
Creswell  herself,  and  was  sure  her  Tom  would  not  have 
liked  her  to  be  a trouble  to  Mr.  Creswell. 

On  this  point  the  brother  of  the  “ departed  saint,”  as 
the  widow  called  the  amiable  idler  of  whose  presence  she 
considered  the  world  unworthy,  by  no  means  agreed  with 
her.  Mr.  Creswell  was  of  opinion  that  so  long  as  trouble 
kept  clear  of  Tom,  Tom  would  have  been  perfectly  in- 
different as  to  where  it  lighted.  But  he  did  not  say  so. 
He  had  not  much  respect  for  his  sister-in-law’s  intellect, 
but  he  pitied  her,  and  he  was  not  only  generous  to  her 
distress,  but  also  merciful  to  her  weakness.  He  offered 
her  a home  at  Woolgreaves,  and  it  was  arranged  that  she 
should  “ try  ” to  go  there,  after  a while.  But  she  never 
tried,  and  she  never  went ; she  “ did  not  see  the  good  of  ” 
anything ; and  in  six  months  after  Tom  Creswell’s  death 


WOOLGREAVES. 


45 


his  daughters  were  settled  at  Woolgreaves,  and  it  is 
doubtful  whether  the  state  of  orphanhood  was  ever  in 
any  case  a more  tempered,  modified  misfortune  than  in 
theirs. 

Thus  the  family  party  at  the  handsome  house,  which 
Mrs.  Ashurst  and  her  daughter  were  about  to  visit,  was 
composed  of  Mr.  Creswell,  his  son  Tom,  a specimen  of  the 
schoolboy  class,  of  whom  this  history  has  already  afforded 
a glimpse,  and  the  Misses  Creswell,  the  Maude  and  Gertrude 
of  whom  Marian  had,  in  her  grief,  spoken  in  terms  of  sharp 
and  contemptuous  disparagement  which,  though  not 
entirely  censurable,  judged  from  her  point  of  view,  were 
certainly  not  altogether  deserved. 

Mr.  Creswell  earnestly  desired  to  befriend  the  visitor 
and  her  daughter.  Gertrude  Creswell  thought  it  would 
be  very  “ nice  ” to  be  “ great  friends  ” with  that  clever 
Miss  Ashurst,  and  had,  with  all  the  impulsiveness  of 
generous  girlhood,  exulted  in  the  idea  of  being,  in  her 
turn,  able  to  extend  kindness  to  people  in  need  of  it,  even 
as  she  and  her  sister  had  been.  But  Maude,  who,  though 
her  actual  experience  of  life  had  been  identical  with  her 
sister’s,  had  more  natural  intuition  and  caution,  checked 
the  enthusiasm  with  which  Gertrude  drew  this  picture. 

“ We  must  be  very  careful,  Gerty  dear,”  she  said ; “ I 
fancy  this  clever  Miss  Ashurst  is  very  proud.  People  say 
you  never  find  out  the  nature  of  any  one  until  trouble 
brings  it  to  the  light.  It  would  never  do  to  let  her  think 
one  had-any  notion  of  doing  her  services,  you  know.  She 
might  not  like  it  from  us ; uncle’s  kindness  to  them  is  a 
different  thing ; but  we  must  remember  that  we  are,  in 
reality,  no  better  off  than  she  is.” 

Gertrude  reddened.  She  had  not  spoken  with  the 
remotest  idea  of  patronage  of  Miss  Ashurst  in  her  mind, 
and  her  sister’s  warning  pained  her.  Gertrude  had  a dash 
of  her  father’s  insouciance  in  her,  though  in  him  it  had  been 
selfish  joviality,  and  in  her  it  was  only  happy  thoughtless- 
ness. It  had  occurred  to  Gertrude,  more  than  once  before 
to-day,  to  think  she  should  like  to  be  married  to  some  one 


46 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


whom  she  could  love  very  much  indeed,  and  away  from 
this  fine  place,  which  did  not  belong  to  them,  though  her 
uncle  was  very  kind,  in  a home  of  her  own.  Maude  had  a 
habit  of  saying  and  looking  things  which  made  Gertrude 
entertain  such  notions ; and  now  she  had,  with  the  best 
intentions,  injured  her  pleasure  in  the  anticipation  of  the 
visit  of  Mrs.  Ashurst  and  Marian. 

It  was  probably  this  little  incident  which  lent  the 
slight  touch  of  coldness  and  restraint  to  the  manner  of 
Gertrude  Creswell  which  Marian  instantly  felt,  and  which 
she  erroneously  interpreted.  When  they  had  met  for- 
merly, there  had  been  none  of  this  hesitating  formality. 

“ These  girls  don’t  want  us  here,”  said  Marian  to 
herself ; “ they  grudge  us  their  uncle’s  friendship,  lest  it 
should  take  a form  which  would  deprive  them  of  any  of  his 
money.” 

Perhaps  Marian  wras  not  aware  of  the  resolve  lurking 
in  her  heart  even  then,  that  such  was  precisely  the  form 
which  that  friendship  should  be  made  to  take.  The  evil 
warp  in  her  otherwise  frank  and  noble  mind  told  in  this. 
Gertrude  Creswell,  to  whom  in  particular  she  imputed 
mercenary  feeling,  and  the  forethought  of  a calculating 
jealousy,  was  entirely  incapable  of  anything  of  the  kind, 
and  was  actuated  wholly  by  her  dread  that  Marian  should 
misinterpret  any  premature  advance  towards  intimacy  on 
her  part  as  an  impertinence.  Thus  the  foundation  of  a 
misunderstanding  between  the  two  was  laid. 

Marian’s  thoughts  had  been  busy  with  the  history  of 
the  sisters,  as  she  and  her  mother  approached  Woolgreaves. 
She  had  heard  her  father  describe  Tom  Creswell  and  his 
wife,  and  dwell  upon  the  fortunate  destiny  wdiich  had 
transferred  Maude  and  Gertrude  to  their  uncle’s  care. 
She  thought  of  all  that  now  with  bitterness.  The  contrast 
between  her  father’s  character,  life,  and  fate,  and  the 
character,  life,  and  fate  of  Tom  Creswell,  wras  a problem 
difficult  to  solve,  hard  to  endure.  Why  had  the  measure 
been  so  differently — she  w^ould,  she  must  say  so  unjustly — 
meted  to  these  two  men  ? Her  fancy  dwelt  on  every  point 


WOOLGREAVES. 


47 


in  that  terrible  difference,  lingered  around  the  two  death- 
beds, pictured  the  happy,  sheltered,  luxurious,  unearned 
security  of  those  whom  the  spendthrift  had  left  uncared 
for,  and  the  harsh,  gloomy  future  before  her  mother 
and  herself,  in  which  only  two  things,  hard  work  and 
scanty  means,  were  certain,  which  had  been  the  vision  her 
father  must  have  seen  of  the  fate  of  those  he  loved,  when 
he,  so  fitted  to  adorn  an  honoured  and  conspicuous  position, 
had  died,  worn  out  in  the  long  vain  strife  with  poverty. 
Here  were  the  children  of  the  man  who  had  lived  utterly 
for  self,  and  the  widow  and  child  of  the  “ righteous/’  who 
had  done  his  duty  manfully  from  first  to  last.  Hard  and 
bitter  were  Marian’s  reflections  on  this  contrast,  and 
earnestly  did  she  wish  that  some  speedy  means  of  ac- 
celerating by  efforts  of  her  own  the  fulfilment  of  those 
promises  of  Providence,  in  which  she  felt  sometimes 
tempted  to  put  little  faith,  might  arise. 

“ I suppose  he  was  not  exactly  ‘ forsaken/  ” said  the 
girl  in  her  mind  as  she  approached  the  grand  gates  of 
Woolgreaves,  whose  ironmongery  displayed  itself  in  the 
utmost  profusion,  allied  with  artistic  designs  more  sump- 
tuous than  elegant,  “ and  that  no  one  will  see  us  4 begging 
our  bread  ; ’ but  there  is  only  meagre  consolation  to  me  in 
this,  since  he  had  not  what  might — or  all  their  service  is 
a pretence,  all  their  ‘ opinions  ’ are  lies — have  saved  him, 
and  I see  little  to  rejoice  in  in  being  just  above  the 
begging  of  bread.” 

“ They  have  done  a great  deal  to  the  place  since 
we  were  here,  Marian,”  said  Mrs.  Ashurst,  looking  round 
admiringly  upon  the  skilful  gardening  and  rich  display  of 
shrubs  and  flowers  and  outdoor  decorations  of  all  kinds. 
“ It  must  take  a great  many  hands  to  keep  this  in  order 
Not  so  much  as  a leaf  or  a pebble  out  of  its  place.” 

“ They  say  there  are  four  gardeners  always  employed,” 
said  Marian.  “I  wish  we  had  the  money  it  costs;  we 
needn’t  wish  Midsummer-day  further  off  then.  But  here 
is  Mr.  Creswell,  coming  to  meet  us.” 

Marian  Ashurst  was  much  more  attractive  in  ber  early 


48 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


womanhood  than  she  had  promised  to  be  as  a very  young 
girl,  and  the  style  of  her  face  and  figure  was  of  the  kind 
which  is  assisted  in  its  effect  by  a somewhat  severe  order 
of  costume.  She  was  not  beautiful,  not  even  positively 
handsome,  and  it  is  possible  she  might  have  looked 
commonplace  in  the  ordinary  dress  of  young  women  of 
limited  means,  where  cheap  material  and  coarse  colouring 
must  necessarily  be  used.  In  her  plain  attire  of  deep 
mourning,  with  no  ornament  save  one  or  two  trinkets  of 
jet  which  had  been  her  mother’s,  Marian  Ashurst  looked 
far  from  commonplace,  and  remarkably  ladylike.  The 
strongly  defined  character  in  her  face,  the  composure  of 
her  manner,  the  quietness  of  her  movements,  were  not  the 
charms  which  are  usually  associated  with  youth,  but  they 
were  charms,  and  her  host  was  a person  to  whom  they 
were  calculated  to  prove  especially  charming.  Except  in 
his  generally  benevolent  way  of  entertaining  a kindly 
regard  for  his  friend’s  daughter,  Mr.  Creswell  had  never 
noted  nor  taken  any  particular  notice  of  Marian  Ashurst ; 
but  she  had  not  been  an  hour  in  his  house  before  she 
impressed  herself  upon  him  as  being  very  different  from  all 
the  other  girls  of  his  acquaintance,  and  much  more  inter- 
esting than  his  nieces. 

Mr.  Creswell  felt  rather  annoyed  with  his  nieces. 
They  were  civil,  certainly ; but  they  did  not  seem  to 
understand  the  art  of  making  the  young  lady  who  was 
visiting  them  happy  and  “ at  home.”  There  was  none  of 
the  freemasonry  of  “ the  young  person  ” about  them. 
After  a while,  Mr.  Creswell  found  that  the  order  of  things 
he  had  been  prepared  for — what  he  certainly  would  have 
taken  to  be  the  natural  order  of  things — was  altered,  set 
aside,  he  did  not  know  how,  and  that  he  was  walking 
along  the  trim  garden-paths,  after  luncheon,  with  Miss 
Ashurst,  while  Maude  and  Gertrude  took  charge  of  the 
visitor  to  whom  he  had  meant  to  devote  himself,  and  were 
making  themselves  as  amiable  and  pleasant  to  her  as  they 
had  failed  to  make  themselves  to  Marian.  Perhaps  the 
fault  or  the  reason  was  as  much  on  Miss  Ashurst’s  side 


WOOLGREAVES. 


49 


as  on  theirs.  Before  he  had  conducted  his  visitor  over  all 
the  “show”  portions  of  the  grounds  and  gardens,  Mr. 
Creswell  had  arrived  at  the  conclusion  that  Marian  was 
a remarkable  young  woman,  with  strong  powers  of  ob- 
servation, and  a decided  aptitude  for  solid  and  sensible 
conversation,  which  probably  explained  the  coldness  to- 
wards her  of  Maude  and  Gertrude,  who  were  not  remark- 
able, except  for  fine  complexions,  and  hair  to  correspond, 
and  whose  talk  was  of  the  most  vapid  description,  so  far 
as  he  had  had  the  opportunity  of  observing. 

There  was  not  much  of  importance  in  appearance  to 
relate  about  the  occurrences  of  a day  which  was  destined 
to  be  remembered  as  very  important  by  all  who  passed  its 
hours  at  Wool  greaves.  It  had  the  usual  features  of  a 
“ long  day,”  spasmodic  attacks  of  animation  and  lapses 
of  weariness,  a great  deal  of  good  eating  and  drinking, 
much  looking  at  pictures  and  parade-books,  some  real 
gratification,  and  not  a little  imperfectly  disguised  fatigue. 
It  differed  in  one  respect,  however,  from  the  usual  history 
of  a “ long  day.”  There  was  one  person  who  was  not  glad 
when  it  came  to  an  end.  That  person  was  Mr.  Creswell. 

Poor  Mrs.  Ashurst  had  found  her  visit  to  Woolgreaves 
much  more  endurable  than  she  expected.  She  had  indeed 
found  it  almost  pleasurable.  She  had  been  amused — the 
time  had  passed,  the  young  ladies  had  been  kind  to  her. 
She  praised  them  to  Marian. 

“ They  are  nice  creatures,”  she  said ; “ really  tender- 
hearted and  sincere.  Of  course,  they  are  not  clever  like 
you,  my  dear ; but  then  all  girls  cannot  be  expected  to  be 
that .” 

“ They  are  very  fortunate,”  said  Marian,  moodily. 
“ Just  think  of  the  safe  and  happy  life  they  lead.  Living 
like  that  is  living;  we  only  exist.  They  have  no  want  for 
the  present ; no  anxiety  for  the  future.  Everything  they 
see  and  touch,  all  the  food  they  eat,  everything  they  wear 
means  money.’ 

“ Yes,”  said  Mrs.  Ashurst ; “ and  after  all,  money  is  a 
great  thing.  Not,  indeed,”  she  added,  with  tears  in  her 

E 


50 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


eyes,  4 4 that  I could  care  much  for  it  now,  for  it  could  not, 
if  we  had  it,  restore  what  we  have  lost.” 

44  No,”  said  Marian,  frowning,  44  but  it  could  have 
saved  us  from  losing  it ; it  could  have  preserved  love  and 
care,  home,  position,  and  happiness  to  us.  True,  mother, 
money  is  a great  thing.” 

But  Marian’s  mother  was  not  listening  to  her.  Her 
mind  had  returned  to  its  familiar  train  of  thought  again. 

Something  had  been  said  that  day  about  Mrs.  Ashurst’s 
paying  Woolgreaves  a longer  visit,  going  for  a week  or 
two,  of  course  accompanied  by  Marian.  Mrs.  Ashurst 
had  not  decidedly  accepted  or  negatived  the  proposition. 
She  felt  rather  nervous  about  it  herself,  and  uncertain  as 
to  Marian’s  sentiments,  and  her  daughter  had  not  aided 
her  by  word  or  look.  Nor  did  Marian  recur  to  the  subject 
when  she  found  themselves  at  home  again  in  the  evening. 
But  she  remembered  it,  and  discussed  it  with  herself  in  the 
night.  Would  it  be  well  that  her  mother  should  be  habi- 
tuated to  the  comforts,  the  luxuries  of  such  a house,  so  un- 
attainable to  her  at  home,  so  desirable  in  her  state  of  broken 
health  and  spirits?  This  was  the  great  difficulty  which 
beset  Marian,  and  she  felt  she  could  not  decide  it  then. 

Her  long  waking  reverie  of  that  night  did  not  concern 
itself  with  the  people  she  had  been  with.  It  was  fully 
occupied  with  the  place.  Her  mind  mounted  from  floor  to 
floor  of  the  handsome  house,  which  represented  so  much 
money,  reviewing  and  appraising  the  furniture,  specu- 
lating on  the  separate  and  collective  value  of  the  plate, 
the  mirrors,  the  hangings,  the  decorations.  Thousands  and 
thousands  of  pounds,  she  thought,  hundreds  and  hundreds 
of  times  more  money  than  she  had  ever  seen,  and  nothing 
to  do  for  it  all.  Those  girls  who  lived  among  it,  what 
had  they  done  that  they  should  have  all  of  it?  Why 
had  she,  whose  mother  needed  it  so  much,  who  could  so 
well  appreciate  it,  none  of  it?  Marian’s  last  thought 
before  she  fell  asleep  that  night  was,  not  only  that  money 
was  a great  thing,  but  that  almost  anything  would  be 
worth  doing  to  get  money. 


( « ) 


CHAPTER  VI. 

BREAD-SEEKING. 

There  are  few  streets  in  London  better  known  to  that 
large  army  of  martyrs,  the  genteelly  poor,  than  those 
which  run  northward  from  the  Strand,  and  are  lost  in  the 
two  vast  tracts  of  brick  known  under  the  name  of  Covent 
Garden  and  Drury  Lane.  Lodging-house  keepers  do  not 
affect  these  streets,  preferring  the  narrow  no-thorOugh- 
fares  on  the  other  side  of  the  Strand,  abutting  on  the 
river,  streets  eternally  ringing  with  the  hoarse  voice  of 
the  costermonger,  who  descends  on  one  side  and  ascends 
on  the  other,  eternally  echoing  to  the  grinding  of  the 
organ-man,  who  gets  through  his  entire  repertoire  twice 
over  during  his  progress  to  the  railing  overlooking  the 
Embankment,  and  his  return  to  the  pickle-shop  at  the  top, 
eternally  haunted  by  the  beer-boy  and  the  newspaper-boy, 
by  postmen  infuriated  with  wrongly  addressed  letters, 
and  by  luggage-laden  cabs.  In  the  streets  bearing  north- 
ward no  costermonger  screams  and  no  organ  is  found ; the 
denizens  are  business-people,  and  would  very  soon  put  a 
stop  to  any  such  attempt. 

Business,  and  nothing  but  business,  in  that  drab- 
coloured  house  with  the  high  wire-blinds  in  the  window, 
over  which  you  can  just  catch  a glimpse  of  the  top  of  a 
hanging  white  robe.  Cope  and  Son  are  the  owners  of  the 
drab-coloured  house,  and  Cope  and  Son  are  the  largest 
retailers  of  clerical  millinery  in  London.  All  day  long 
members  of  “the  cloth,”  sleek,  pale,  emaciated,  high- 
church  curates,  stout,  fresh-coloured,  huge-whiskered, 
broad-church  rectors,  fat,  pasty-faced,  straight-haired 
evangelical  ministers,  are  pouring  into  Cope  and  Son’s 
for  clothes,  for  hoods,  for  surplices,  for  stoles,  for  every 
variety  of  ecclesiastical  garment.  Cope  and  Son  supply 
all,  in  every  variety,  for  every  sect;  the  M,B.  waistcoat 


52 


WRECKED  IN  FORT. 


and  stiff-collared  coat  reaching  to  his  heels  in  which  the 
Honourable  and  Reverend  Cyril  Genuflex  looks  so  im- 
posing, as  he,  before  the  assembled  vestry,  defies  the 
scrutiny  of  his  evangelical  churchwarden ; the  pepper- 
and-salt  cutaway  in  which  the  Reverend  Pytchley  Quorn 
follows  the  hounds;  the  black-stuff  gown  in  which  the 
Reverend  Locock  Congreve  perspires  and  groans  as  he 
deals  out  denunciations  of  those  sitting  under  him;  and 
the  purple  bedgown,  turned  up  with  yellow  satin,  and 
worked  all  over  with  crosses  and  vagaries,  in  which  poor 
Tom  Phoole,  such  a kind-hearted  and  such  a soft-headed 
vessel,  goes  through  his  ritualistic  tricks, — all  these  come 
from  the  establishment  of  Cope  and  Son’s,  in  Rutland 
Street,  Strand. 

The  next  house  on  the  right  is  handy  for  the  high- 
church  clergymen,  though  the  evangelicals  shut  their  eyes 
and  turn  away  their  heads  as  they  pass  by  it.  Here  Herr 
Tubelkahn,  from  Elberfeld,  the  cunning  worker  in  metals, 
the  artificer  of  brass  and  steel  and  iron,  and  sometimes  of 
gold  and  silver,  the  great  ecclesiastical  upholsterer,  has 
set  up  his  Lares  and  Penates,  and  here  he  deals  in  the 
loveliest  of  medievalisms  and  the  choicest  of  renaissance 
wares.  The  sleek  long-coated  gentry  who  come  to  make 
purchases  can  scarcely  thread  their  way  through  the 
heterogeneous  contents  of  Herr  Tubelkahn’s  shop.  All 
massed  together  without  order ; black  oaken  chairs, 
bought  up  by  Tubelkahn’s  agents  from  occupants  of 
tumbledown  old  cottages  in  midland  districts,  crosiers 
and  crucifixes,  ornate  and  plain,  from  Elberfeld,  sceptres 
and  wands  from  Solingen,  lecterns  in  the  shape  of 
enormous  brazen  eagles  with  outstretched  wings  from 
Birmingham,  enormous  candelabra  and  gaseliers  of  Gothic 
pattern  from  Liege,  and  sculptured  pulpits  and  carved 
altar-rails  from  the  Curtain  Road,  Shoreditch.  Altar- 
cloths  hang  from  the  tables,  and  altar-carpets,  none  of 
your  common  loom-woven  stuff,  but  hand-worked  and — as 
Herr  Tubelkahn  gives  you  to  understand — by  the  fairest 
fingers,  are  spread  about  to  show  their  patterns  to  the 


BREAD-SEEKING. 


53 


best  advantage,  while  there  is  so  much  stained  glass  about 
ready  for  immediate  transfer  to  the  oriel  windows  of 
country  churches,  that  when  the  sun  shines,  Herr  Tubel- 
kahn’s  customers  seem  to  be  suddenly  invested  with 
Joseph’s  garment  of  many  colours,  and  the  whole  shop 
lights  up  like  a kaleidoscope. 

Many  of  the  customers,  both  of  Messrs.  Cope  and 
Tubelkahn,  were  customers,  or,  more  euphuistically, 
clients,  of  Messrs.  Camoxon,  who  kept  the  celebrated 
Clerical  and  Educational  Registry  higher  up  the  street  ; 
but  these  customers  and  clients  invariably  crossed  and 
recrossed  the  road,  in  proceeding  from  the  one  to  the  other 
of  these  establishments,  in  order  to  avoid  a certain  door 
which  lay  midway  between  them.  A shabby  swing-door, 
sun-blistered,  and  with  its  bottom  panel  scored  with  heel 
and  toe  kicks  from  impatient  entrance-seeking  feet ; a 
door  flanked  by  two  flaming  bills,  and  surrounded  by  a 
host  of  close-shaven,  sallow-faced  men,  in  shabby  clothes 
and  shiny  hats,  and  red  noses  and  swinging  canes,  noble 
Romans,  roistering  cavaliers,  clamorous  citizens,  fashion- 
able guests,  virtuous  peasants — all  at  a shilling  a night ; 
for  the  door  was,  in  fact,  the  stage-door  of  the  Cracksideum 
Theatre.  The  shabby  men  in  threadbare  jauntiness  smiled 
furtively,  and  grinned  at  each  other  as  they  saw  the  sleek 
gentlemen  in  shining  broad-cloth  step  out  of  their  path ; 
but  the  said  gentlemen  felt  the  proximity  of  the  Thespian 
temple  very  acutely,  and  did  not  scruple  to  say  so  to 
Messrs.  Camoxon,  who,  as  in  duty  bound,  shrugged  their 
shoulders  deprecatingly,  and — changed  the  conversation. 
They  were  very  sorry,  but — and  they  shrugged  their 
shoulders.  When  men  shrug  their  shoulders  to  their 
customers  it  is  time  that  they  should  retire  from  business. 
It  was  time  that  the  Messrs.  Camoxon  so  retired,  for  the 
old  gentleman  now  seldom  appeared  in  Rutland  Street, 
but  remained  at  home  at  Wimbledon,  enacting  his 
favourite  character  of  the  British  squire,  and  actually 
dressing  the  part  in  a blue  coat  and  gilt  buttons,  gray 
knee-breeches,  and  Hessian  boots ; while  young  George 


54 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


Camoxon  limited  with  the  Queen’s  hounds,  had  dined 
twice  at  the  Life  Guards’  mess  at  Windsor,  and  had  serious 
thoughts  of  standing  for  the  county. 

But  the  business  was  far  too  good  to  give  up ; every 
one  who  had  a presentation  or  an  advowson  to  sell  took  it 
to  Camoxons’ ; the  head  dlerk  could  tell  you  off-hand  the 
net  value  of  every  valuable  living  in  England,  the  age  of 
the  incumbent,  and  the  state  of  his  health.  Every  rector 
who  wanted  assistance,  every  curate  who  wanted  a change, 
in  servants’  phrase,  “ to  better  himself,”  every  layman 
who  wanted  a title  for  orders,  every  vicar  who,  oddly 
enough,  wanted  to  change  a dull,  bleak  living  in  the  north 
for  a pleasant  social  sphere  of  duty  in  a cheerful  neigh- 
bourhood in  the  south  of  England ; parents  on  the  look- 
out for  tutors,  tutors  in  search  of  pupils — all  inscribed 
their  names  on  Camoxon’s  books,  and  looked  to  him  for 
assistance  in  their  extremity.  There  was  a substantial, 
respectable,  orthodox  appearance  about  Camoxons’,  in  the 
ground-glass  windows,  with  the  device  of  the  Bible  and 
Sceptre  duly  inscribed  thereon ; in  the  chaste  internal 
fittings  of  polished  mahogany  and  plain  horsehair  stools, 
with  the  Churchman’s  Almanack  on  the  wall  in  mediaeval 
type,  very  illegible,  and  in  a highly  mediaeval  frame,  all 
bosses  and  clamps ; in  the  big  ledgers  and  address-books, 
and  in  the  Post-office  Directory,  which  here  shed  its 
truculent  red  cover,  and  was  scarcely  recognisable  in  a 
meek  sad-coloured  calf  binding ; and,  above  all,  in  the 
grave,  solemn,  sable-clad  clerks,  who  moved  noiselessly 
about,  and  who  looked  like  clergymen  playing  at  busi- 
ness. 

Up  and  down  Butland  Street  had  Walter  Joyce  paced 
full  a thousand  times  since  his  arrival  in  London.  The 
name  of  the  street  and  of  its  principal  inhabitants  was 
familiar  to  him  through  the  advertisements  in  the  clerical 
newspaper  which  used  to  be  sent  to  Mr.  Ashurst  at 
Helmingham ; and  no  sooner  was  he  settled  down  in  his 
little  lodging  in  Winchester  Street  than  he  crossed  the 
mighty  artery  of  the  Strand,  and  sought  out  the  street 


BREAD-SEEKING. 


55 


and  the  shops  of  which  he  had  alread}r  heard  so  much. 
He  saw  them,  peered  in  at  Copes’,  and  at  Tubelkahn’s, 
and  looked  earnestly  at  Camoxons’  ground-glass  window, 
and  half  thought  of  going  in  to  see  whether  they  had 
anything  which  might  suit  him  on  their  hooks.  But  he 
refrained  until  he  had  received  the  answers  to  a certain 
advertisement  which  he  had  inserted  in  the  newspaper, 
setting  forth  that  a young  man  with  excellent  testimonials 
— he  knew  he  could  get  them  from  the  rector  of  Helming- 
ham — was  desirous  of  giving  instruction  in  the  classics 
and  mathematics.  Advertising,  he  thought,  was  a better 
and  more  gentlemanly  medium  than  causing  a detailed 
list  of  his  accomplishments  to  be  inscribed  in  the  books 
of  the  Ecclesiastical  Registry,  as  a horse’s  pedigree  and 
performances  are  entered  in  the  horsedealer’s  list ; but 
when,  after  hunting  for  half  an  hour  through  the  columns 
of  the  newspaper’s  supplement,  he  found  his  advertisement 
amongst  a score  of  others,  all  of  them  from  men  with 
college  honours,  or  promising  greater  advantages  than  he 
could  hold  forth,  he  began  to  doubt  the  wisdom  of  his 
proceeding.  However,  he  would  wait  and  see  the  result. 
He  did  so  wait  for  three  days,  but  not  a single  line 
addressed,  as  requested,  to  W.  J.  found  its  way  to  Win- 
chester Street.  Then  he  sent  for  the  newspaper  again, 
and  began  to  reply  to  the  advertisements  which  he 
thought  might  suit  him.  He  had  no  high  thoughts  or 
hopes,  no  notions  of  regenerating  the  living  generation, 
or  of  placing  tuition  on  a new  footing,  or  rendering  it 
easy  by  some  hitherto  unexplained  process.  He  had  been 
an  usher  in  a school ; for  the  place  of  an  usher  in  a school 
he  had  advertised ; and  if  he  could  have  obtained  that 
position  he  would  have  been  contented.  But  when  the 
few  answers  to  his  advertisement  arrived,  he  saw  that  it 
was  impossible  to  accept  any  of  the  offers  they  contained. 
One  man  wanted  him  to  teach  Erench  with  a guaranteed 
Parisian  accent,  to  devote  his  whole  time  out  of  school- 
hours  to  the  boys,  to  supervise  them  in  the  Indian-sceptre 
athletic  exercises,  and  to  rule  over  a dormitory  of  thirteen, 


56 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


“ where,  in  consequence  of  the  lax  supervision  of  the  last 
didaskolos,  severe  measures  would  he  required/5  for 
twenty  pounds  a year.  Another  gentleman,  whose  note- 
paper  was  ornamented  with  a highly  florid  Maltese  cross, 
and  who  dated  his  letter  “ Eve  of  S.  Boanerges,55  wished 
to  know  his  opinion  of  the  impostor-firebrand  M.  Luther, 
and  whether  he  (the  advertiser)  had  any  connections  in 
the  florist  or  decorative  line,  with  whom  an  arrangement 
in  the  mutual-accommodation  way  could  be  entered  into  ; 
while  a third,  evidently  a grave  sententious  man,  with  a 
keen  ejTe  to  business,  expressed,  on  old-fashioned  Bath- 
post,  gilt-edged  letter-paper,  his  desire  to  know  “ what 
sum  W.  J.  would  be  willing  to  contribute  for  the  permis- 
sion to  state,  after  a year’s  residence,  that  he  had  been 
one  of  Dr.  Sumph’s  most  trusted  helpmates  and  assistants.55 

No  good  to  be  got  that  way,  then,  and  a visit  to 
Camoxons5  imminent,  for  the  money  was  running  very, 
very  short,  and  the  conventional  upturning  of  stones,  by 
no  means  leaving  one  in  its  normal  position,  must  be 
proceeded  with.  Visit  to  Camoxon’s  paid,  after  much 
staring  through  the  ground-glass  window  (opaque  gene- 
rally, but  transparent  in  the  Bible  and  Sceptre  artistic 
bits),  much  ascent  and  descent  of  two  steps  cogitatively, 
final  rush  up  top  step  wildly,  and  hurried,  not  to  say 
pantomimic,  entrance  through  the  ground-glass  door,  to 
be  confronted  by  the  oldest  and  most  composed  of  the 
sable-clad  clerks.  Bows  exchanged ; name  and  address 
required;  name  and  address  given  in  a low  and  serious 
whisper,  and  repeated  aloud  in  a clear  high  treble,  each 
word  as  it  was  uttered  being  transcribed  in  a hand  which 
was  the  very  essence  of  copperplate  into  an  enormous  book. 
Position  required  ? Second  or  third  mastership  in  a classi- 
cal school,  private  tutorship,  as  secretary  or  librarian  to 
a nobleman  or  gentleman.  So  glibly  ran  the  old  gentle- 
man’s steel  pen  over  these  items  that  Walter  Joyce  began 
to  fancy  that  applicants  for  one  post  were  generally  ready 
and  willing  to  take  all  or  any,  as  indeed  they  were. 
“ Which  University,  what  college  ? 55  The  old  gentleman 


BREAD-SEEKING. 


57 


scratched  his  head  with  the  end  of  his  steel  penholder,  and 
looked  across  at  Walter,  with  a benevolent  expression 
which  seemed  to  convey  that  he  would  rather  the  young 
man  would  say  Christchurch  than  St.  Mary’s,  and  Trinity 
in  preference  to  Clare  Hall.  Walter  Joyce  grew  hot  to 
his  ear-tips,  and  his  tongue  felt  too  large  for  his  mouth,  as 
he  stammered  out,  “ I have  not  been  to  either  University 

— I ” but  the  remainder  of  the  sentence  was  lost  in 

the  loud  bang  with  which  the  old  gentleman  clapped-to 
the  heavy  sides  of  the  big  book,  clasped  it  with  its  brazen 
clasp,  and  hoisted  it  on  to  a shelf  behind  him  with  the 
dexterity  of  a juggler. 

“ My  good  young  friend,”  said  the  old  clerk  blandl}r, 
“ you  might  have  saved  yourself  a vast  amount  of  vexation, 
and  me  a certain  amount  of  trouble,  if  you  had  made  that 
announcement  earlier  ! Good  morning  ! ” 

“ But  do  you  mean  to  say ” 

“I  mean  to  say  that  in  that  book  at  the  present 
moment  are  the  names  of  sixty  gentlemen  seeking  just  the 
employment  which  you  have  named,  all  of  whom  are  not 
merely  members  of  colleges,  but  members  who  have  taken 
rank — prizemen,  first-class  men,  wranglers,  senior  optimes ; 
they  are  on  our  books,  and  they  may  remain  there  for 
months  before  we  get  them  off.  You  may  judge,  then,  what 
chance  you  would  have.  At  most  agencies  they  would 
have  taken  your  money  and  given  you  hope.  But  we 
don’t  do  that  here — it  isn’t  our  way.  Good  morning  ! ” 

“ Then  you  think  I have  no  chance ” 

“ I’m  sure  of  it — through  us,  at  least.  Good 
morning  ! ” 

Joyce  would  have  made  another  effort,  but  the  old 
gentleman  had  already  turned  on  his  heel,  and  feigned  to 
be  busy  with  some  letters  on  a desk  before  him,  so  Walter 
turned  round  too,  and  silently  left  the  registry-office. 

Silently,  and  with  an  aching  heart.  The  old  clerk  had 
said  but  little,  but  Walter  felt  that  his  dictum  was  correct, 
and  that  all  hopes  of  getting  a situation  as  a tutor  were  at 
an  end.  Oh,  if  his  father  had  only  left  him  money  enough 


58 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


to  go  to  college,  lie  would  have  had  a future  before  him 

which But  then,  Marian  ? He  would  never  have 

known  that  pure,  faithful,  earnest  love,  failing  which,  life  in 
its  brightest  and  best  form  would  have  been  dull  and  dis- 
tasteful to  him.  He  had  that  love  still,  thank  Heaven, 
and  in  that  thought  there  were  the  elements  of  hope,  and 
the  promptings  to  bestir  himself  yet  once  more  in  his 
hard,  self-appointed  task  of  bread- winning. 

Money  running  very  short,  and  time  running  rapidly 
on.  Not  the  shortest  step  in  advance  since  he  had  first  set 
foot  in  London,  and  the  bottom  of  his  purse  growing  pain- 
fully visible.  He  had  taken  to  frequenting  a small  coffee- 
house in  the  neighbourhood  of  Covent  Garden,  where,  as 
he  munched  the  roll  and  drank  the  tea  which  now  too 
often  served  him  as  a dinner,  he  could  read  the  news- 
papers, and  scan  the  advertisements  to  see  if  there  were 
anything  likely  to  suit  him  among  the  myriad  columns. 
It  was  a quiet  and  secluded  little  place,  where  but  few 
strangers  entered ; he  saw  the  same  faces  night  after  night, 
as  he  noticed — and  where  he  could  have  his  letters  ad- 
dressed to  him  under  his  initials,  which  was  a great 
comfort,  as  he  had  noticed  lately  that  his  landlady  in  his 
riverside  lodging-house  had  demurred  to  the  receipt  of  so 
much  initialed  correspondence,  ascribing  it,  as  Walter 
afterwards  learned  from  the  “slavey,”  or  maid- of-all- work, 
either  to  “ castin’  ’orry scopes,  tellin’  charickters  by  ’and- 
writin’,  or  rejen’rative  bolsum  for  the  ’air  ! ” — things 
utterly  at  variance  with  the  respectability  of  her  establish- 
ment. 

A quiet,  secluded  little  place,  sand-floored  and  spittoon- 
decorated, with  a cosy  clock,  and  a cosy  red-faced  fire, 
singing  with  steaming  kettles,  and  cooking  chops,  and 
frizzling  rwbacon,  with  a sleepy  cat,  a pet  of  the  customers, 
dozing  before  the  hearth,  and  taking  occasional  quarter-of- 
an-hour  turns  round  the  room,  to  be  back-rubbed  and 
whisker-scratched,  and  tit-bit  fed,  with  tea  and  coffee  and 
cocoa,  in  thick  blue  china  half-pint  mugs,  and  with  bacon 
in  which  the  edge  was  by  no  means  to  be  cut  off  and  thrown 


BKEAD-SEEKING. 


59 


away,  but  was  thick,  and  crisp,  and  delicious  as  the  rest 
of  it,  on  willow-pattern  plates,  with  little  yellow  pats  of 
country  butter,  looking  as  if  the  cow  whose  impressed 
form  they  bore  had  only  fed  upon  buttercups,  as  different 
from  the  ordinary  petrified  cold  cream  which  in  London 
passes  current  for  butter  as  chalk  from  cheese.  “Bliff- 
kins’s” — the  house  was  supposed  to  have  been  leased  to 
Bliffkins  as  the  Elephant,  and  appeared  under  that  title  in 
the  Directories;  but  no  one  knew  it  but  as  Bliffkins’s — 
was  a Somersetshire  house,  and  kept  a neat  placard  framed 
and  glazed  in  its  front  window  to  the  effect  that  the 
Somerset  County  Gazette  was  taken  in.  So  that  among  the 
thin,  pale  London  folk  who  “used”  the  house  you  occa- 
sionally came  upon  stalwart  giants,  big-chested,  horny- 
handed,  deep-voiced,  with  z’s  sticking  out  all  over  their 
pronunciation,  jolly  Zummerzetshire  men,  who  brought 
Bliffkins  the  latest  gossip  from  his  old  native  place  of 
Bruton  and  its  neighbourhood,  and  who,  during  their  stay 
— and  notably  at  cattle-show  period — were  kings  of  the 
house.  At  ordinary  times,  however,  the  frequenters  of 
the  house  never  varied — indeed,  it  was  understood  that 
Bliffkins’s  was  a “connection,”  and  did  not  in  the  least 
depend  upon  chance  custom.  Certain  people  sat  in  certain 
places,  ordered  certain  refreshment,  and  went  away  at 
certain  hours,  never  varying  in  the  slightest  particular. 
Mr.  Byrne,  a wizened  old  man,  who  invariably  bore  on 
his  coat  and  on  his  hair  traces  of  fur  and  fluff  and  wool, 
who  was  known  to  be  a bird-stuffer  by  trade,  and  an 
extreme  Badical  in  politics,  and  who  was  reputed  to  be 
the  writer  of  some  of  those  spirit-stirring  letters  in  the 
weekly  press  signed  “Lucius  Junius  Brutus”  and  “ Scru- 
tator,” sat  in  the  right-hand  corner  box  nearest  the  door, 
where  he  was  out  of  the  draught,  and  had  the  readiest 
chance  of  pouncing  upon  the  boy  who  brought  in  the 
evening  papers,  and  securing  them  before  his  rival,  Mr. 
Wickwar,  could  effect  a seizure.  Mr.  Wickwar,  who  was 
a retired  tailor,  and  had  plenty  of  means,  the  sole  bane  of 
his  life  being  the  danger  to  the  Constitution  from  the 


fiO 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


recklessly  advanced  feeling  of  the  times,  sat  at  the  other 
end  of  the  room,  being  gouty  and  immobile,  contented 
himself  with  glaring  at  his  democratic  enemy,  and  occa- 
sionally withering  him  with  choice  extracts  from  the 
Magna  Charta  weekly  journal.  The  box  between  them 
was  usually  devoted  of  an  evening  to  Messrs.  O’Shane  and 
Begson,  gentlemen  attached  to  the  press,  capital  company, 
full  of  anecdote  and  repartee,  though  liable  to  be  suddenly 
called  away  in  the  exigence  of  their  literary  pursuits. 
The  top  of  the  policeman’s  helmet  or  the  flat  cap  of  the 
fireman  on  duty  just  protruded  through  the  swing-door  in 
this  direction  acted  as  tocsins  to  these  indefatigable  public 
servants,  cut  them  off  in  the  midst  of  a story,  and  sent 
them  flying  on  the  back  of  an  engine,  or  at  the  tail  of  a 
crowd,  to  witness  scenes  which,  portrayed  by  their  graphic 
pencils,  afforded  an  additional  relish  to  the  morning  muffin 
at  thousands  of  respectable  breakfast-tables.  Between 
these  gentlemen  and  a Mr.  Shimmer,  a youngish  man,  with 
bright  eyes,  hectic  colour,  and  a general  sense  of  nervous 
irritation,  there  was  a certain  spirit  of  camaraderie  which 
the  other  frequenters  of  Bliffkins’s  could  not  understand. 
Mr.  Shimmer  invariably  sat  alone,  and  during  his  meal 
habitually  buried  himself  in  one  of  the  choice  volumes  of 
Bliffkins’s  library,  consisting  of  old  volumes  of  Blackwo'od’s, 
Bentley’s,  and  Tait’s  magazines,  from  which  he  would  occa- 
sionally make  extracts  in  a very  small  hand  in  a very  small 
note-book.  It  was  probably  from  the  fact  of  a printer’s  boy 
having  called  at  Bliffkins’s  with  what  was  understood  to 
be  a “ proof,”  that  a rumour  arose  and  was  received  through- 
out the  Bliffkins’s  connection  that  Mr.  Shimmer  edited  the 
Times  newspaper.  Be  that  as  it  might,  there  was  no  doubt, 
both  from  external  circumstances  and  from  the  undefined 
deference  paid  to  him  by  the  other  gentlemen  of  the  press, 
that  Mr.  Shimmer  was  a literary  man  of  position,  and  that 
Bliffkins  held  him  in  respect,  and,  what  was  more  practical 
for  him,  gave  him  credit  on  that  account.  An  ex-parish 
clerk,  who  took  snuff  and  sleep  in  alternate  pinches;  a 
potato  salesmen  in  Covent  Garden,  who  drank  coffee  to 


BREAD-SEEKING. 


61 


keep  himself  awake,  and  who  went  briskly  off  to  business 
when  the  other  customers  dropped  off  wearily  to  bed;  a 
“ professional  ” at  an  adjoining  bowling-alley,  who  would 
have  been  a pleasant  fellow  had  it  not  been  for  his  biceps, 
which  got  into  his  head  and  into  his  mouth,  and  pervaded 
his  conversation ; and  a seedsman,  a terrific  republican, 
who  named  his  innocent  bulbs  and  hyacinths  after  the 
most  sanguinary  heroes  of  the  French  revolution, — filled 
up  the  list  of  Bliff kins’s  “ regulars.” 

Among  these  quiet  people  Walter  Joyce  took  up  his 
place  night  after  night,  until  he  began  to  be  looked  upon 
as  of  and  belonging  to  them.  They  were  intolerant  of 
strangers  at  Bliff  kins’s,  of  strangers,  that  is  to  say,  who, 
tempted  by  the  comforts  of  the  place,  renewed  their  visits, 
and  threatened  to  make  them  habitual.  These  were  for 
tbe  most  part  received  at  about  their  third  appearance, 
when  they  came  in  with  a pleasant  smile  and  thought 
they  had  made  an  impression,  with  a strong  stare  and  a 
dead  silence,  under  the  influences  of  which  they  ordered 
refreshment  which  they  did  not  want,  had  to  pay  for,  and 
went  away  without  eating,  amid  the  contemptuous  grins 
of  the  regulars.  But  Walter  Joyce  was  so  quiet  and  un- 
obtrusive, so  evidently  a gentleman  desirous  of  peace  and 
shelter  and  refuge  at  a cheap  rate,  that  the  great  heart  of 
Bliff  kins’s  softened  to  him  at  once ; they  themselves  had 
known  the  feelings  under  which  he  sought  the  asylum  of 
that  Long- Acre  Patmos,  and  they  respected  him.  No  one 
spoke  to  him,  there  was  no  acknowledgment  of  his  presence 
among  them;  they  knew  well  enough  that  any  such 
manifestation  would  have  been  out  of  place;  but  when, 
after  finishing  his  very  simple  evening  meal,  he  would 
take  a few  sheets  of  paper  from  his  pocket,  draw  to  him 
the  Times  supplement,  and,  constantly  referring  to  it,  com- 
mence writing  a series  of  letters,  they  knew  what  all  that 
portended,  and  all  of  them,  including  old  Wickwar,  the 
ex-tailor  and  great  Conservative,  silently  wished  him 
Godspeed. 

Ab,  those  letters,  dated  from  Bliff  kins’s  coffee-house,  and 


62 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


written  in  Walter  Joyce’s  roundest  hand,  in  reply  to  the 
hundred  of  chances  which  each  day’s  newspaper-sheet 
offered  to  every  enterprising  bread-seeker,  chances  so 
promising  at  the  first  glance,  so  barren  and  so  full  of 
rottenness  when  they  came  to  be  tested  ! Clerkships  ? 
clerkships  in  galore!  legal,  mercantile,  general  clerks 
were  wanted  everywhere,  only  apply  to  A.  B.  or  Y.  Z., 
and  take  them ! But  when  A.  B.  or  Y.  Z.  replied,  Walter 
Joyce  found  that  the  legal  clerks  must  write  the  regular 
engrossing  hand,  must  sweep  out  the  office  ready  for  the 
other  clerks  by  nine  a.m.,  and  must  remain  there  occa- 
sionally till  nine  p.m.,  with  a little  outdoor  work  in  the 
service  of  writs  and  notices  of  ejectment.  The  duties 
required  of  the  mercantile  clerk  were  but  little  better,  and 
those  of  the  general  clerks  were  worst  of  all,  while  through- 
out a net  income  of  eighteen  shillings  a week  appeared  to 
be  the  average  remuneration.  “A  secretary  wanted?” 
certainly,  four  secretaries  wanted  nearly  every  day,  to 
public  companies  which  were  about  to  bring  forth  an 
article  in  universal  demand,  but  of  which  the  supply  had 
hitherto  been  limited,  and  which  could  not  fail  to  meet 
with  an  enormous  success  and  return  a large  dividend.  In 
all  cases  the  secretary  must  be  a man  of  education  and 
of  gentlemanly  manners,  so  said  the  advertisements ; -but 
the  reply  to  Walter  Joyce’s  application  said  in  addition 
that  he  must  be  able  to  advance  the  sum  of  three  hundred 
pounds,  to  be  invested  in  the  shares  of  the  company,  which 
would  bear  interest  at  the  rate  of  twenty-five  per  cent,  per 
annum.  The  Press  ? through  the  medium  of  their  London 
fraternity  the  provincial  press  was  clamorous  for  educated 
men  who  could  write  leading  articles,  general  articles,  and 
reviews ; but  on  inquiry  the  press  required  the  same  edu- 
cated men  to  be  able  to  combine  shorthand  reporting  with 
editorial  writing,  and  in  many  cases  suggested  the  advisa- 
bility of  the  editorial  writer  being  able  to  set  up  his  own 
leaders  in  type  at  case.  The  literary  institutions  through- 
out the  country  were  languishing  for  lecturers ; but  when 
Walter  Joyce  wrote  to  them,  offering  them  a choice  of 


BREAD-SEEKING. 


63 


certain  subjects  which  he  had  studied,  and  on  which  he 
thought  himself  competent  of  conveying  real  information, 
he  received  answers  from  the  secretaries,  that  only  men  of 
name  were  paid  by  the  institutions,  but  that  the  committee 
would  be  happy  to  set  apart  a night  for  him  if  he  chose  to 
lecture  gratis,  or  that  if  he  felt  inclined  to  address  the  in- 
habitants of  Knuckleborough  on  his  own  account,  the 
charge  for  the  great  hall  was  three  pounds,  for  the  smaller 
hall  thirty  shillings  a night,  in  both  cases  exclusive  of  gas, 
while  the  secretary,  who  kept  the  principal  stationer’s 
shop  and  library  in  the  town,  would  be  happy  to  become 
his  agent,  and  sell  his  tickets  at  the  usual  charge  of  ten 
per  cent.  Four  pounds  a week,  guaranteed  ! Not  a bad 
income  for  a penniless  man  ! to  be  earned,  too,  in  the  dis- 
charge of  a light  and  gentlemanly  occupation,  to  be 
acquired  by  the  outlay  of  three  shillings’  worth  of  postage 
stamps.  Walter  Joyce  sent  the  postage  stamps,  and 
received  in  return  a lithographic  circular,  very  dirty  about 
the  folded  edges,  instructing  him  in  the  easiest  method  of 
modelling  wax  flowers ! 

That  was  the  final  straw.  On  the  receipt  of  that  letter, 
or  rather  on  the  reading  of  it — he  had  taken  it  from  the 
stately  old  looking-glass  over  the  fireplace  to  the  box 
where  of  late  he  usually  sat — Walter  Joyce  gave  a deep 
groan,  and  buried  his  face  in  his  hands.  A minute  after 
he  felt  his  hair  slightly  touched,  and  looking  up,  saw  old 
Jack  Byrne  bending  over  him. 

“ What  ails  ye,  lad  ? ” asked  the  old  man  tenderly. 

“ Misery — despair — starvation  ! ” 

“ I thought  so ! ” said  the  old  man  calmly.  Then 
taking  a small  battered  flask  from  his  breast  and  emptying 
its  contents  into  a clean  cup  before  him — “ Here,  drink 
this,  and  come  outside.  We  can’t  talk  here  ! ” 

Walter  swallowed  the  contents  of  the  cup  mechanically, 
and  followed  his  new  friend  into  the  street. 


64 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


CHAPTEK  VII. 

A NEW  FRIEND. 

When  they  stood  in  the  street,  with  the  fresh  night -wind 
blowing  upon  them,  the  old  man  stopped,  and,  peering 
anxiously  into  his  companion’s  face,  said  abruptly— 

“ Better  ? ” 

“ Much  better,  thank  you ; quite  well,  in  fact.  There’s 

no  occasion  for  me  to  trouble  you  any  more  ; I ” 

“What?  All  gaff,  eh?  Old  Jack  Byrne  sold,  eh? 
Swallowed  his  brandy,  and  want  to  cut — is  that  the 
caper  ? ” 

“ I beg  your  pardon,  I don’t  quite  clearly  understand 
you,  I’m  sorry  to  say  ” — for  Walter  knew  by  the  tone  of 
his  voice  that  the  old  man  was  annoyed — “ I’m  very  weak 
and  rather  stupid — I mean  to  say,  in — in  the  ways  and  the 
talk  of  London — and  I don’t  clearly  follow  what  you  said 
to  me  just  now ; only  you  were  so  kind  to  me  at  first, 
that ” 

“ Provinces  ! ” muttered  the  old  man  to  himself.  “ Just 
like  me  ; treating  him  to  my  pavement  patter,  and  thinking 
he  understood  it!  All  right,  I think,  as  far  as  one  can  judge, 
though  God  know’s  that’s  often  wrong  enough ! ” Then, 
aloud,  “ Kind  ! nonsense  ! I’m  an  odd  old  skittle,  and  talk 
an  odd  language ; but  I’ve  seen  the  ups  and  downs  of  life, 
my  lad,  and  can  give  you  good  advice  if  I can’t  give  any- 
thing else.  Have  you  anything  to  do  to-night  ? Nothing  ? 
Sure  I’m  not  keeping  you  from  the  Opera,  or  any  swell 
party  in  Park  Lane  ? No ! Then  come  home  with  me 
and  have  a bit  o’  pickled  salmon  and  a glass  of  cold  gin- 
and-water,  and  let’s  talk  matters  out.” 

Before  he  had  concluded  his  sentence,  the  old  man  had 
slipped  Joyce’s  arm  through  his  own,  and  was  making  off 
at  a great  rate,  and  also  with  an  extraordinary  shamble,  in 
which  his  shoulder  appeared  to  act  as  a kind  of  cutwater, 


A NEW  FRIEND. 


65 


while  his  legs  followed  considerably  in  the  rear.  Walter 
held  on  to  him  as  best  he  could,  and  in  this  fashion  they 
made  their  way  through  the  back  streets,  across  St.  Martin’s 
Lane,  and  so  into  Leicester  Square.  Then,  as  they  arrived 
in  front  of  a brilliantly  lighted  establishment,  at  the 
door  of  which  cabs  laden  with  fashionably  dressed  men 
and  gaudily  dressed  women  were  continually  disgorging 
their  loads,  while  a never-ceasing  stream  of  pedestrians 
poured  in  from  the  street,  Jack  Byrne  came  to  a sudden 
halt,  and  said  to  his  companion — 

“ Now  I’m  going  to  enjoy  myself ! ” 

Walter  Joyce  had  noticed  the  style  of  people  pouring  in 
through  the  turnstiles  and  paying  their  admission  money 
at  the  brilliantly  lit  boxes  ; and  as  he  heard  these  words 
he  unconsciously  drew  back.  You  see,  he  was  but  a 
country-bred  young  man,  and  had  not  yet  been  initiated 
into  the  classical  enjoyments  of  London  life.  Jack 
Byrne  felt  the  tug  at  his  arm,  and  looked  at  him 
curiously. 

“ What  is  it  ?”  said  he.  “ You  thought  I was  going  in 
there?  I?  Oh,  my  dear  young  friend,  you’ll  have  to 
learn  a great  deal  yet ; but  you’re  on  the  suspicious  lay, 
and  that’s  a chalk  to  you  ! You  thought  I’d  hocussed  the 
brandy  I gave  you  at  Bliffkins’s ; you  thought  I was  going 
to  take  you  into  this  devil’s  crib,  did  you?  Not  I,  my 
dear  boy;  I’d  as  soon  take  you  in  as  myself,  and  that’s 
saying  a good  deal.  No ; I told  you  I was  going  to  enjoy 
myself — so  I am.  My  enjoyment  is  in  watching  that  door, 
and  marking  those  who  go  through  it,  not  in  speculating 
on  what’s  going  on  inside,  but  in  waiting  for  the  end,  my 
young  friend — in  waiting  for  the  end ! Oh  yes,  jump  out 
of  your  brougham,  my  Lord  Tomnoddy ; but  don’t  split 
your  lavender  gloves  in  attempting  to  close  the  door 
behind  you — the  cad  will  do  that,  of  course ! Beautiful 
linen,  white  as  snow,  and  hair  all  stuck  close  to  his  head, 
look.  But  mark  his  forehead — what’s  your  name — Joyce  ? 
Mark  his  forehead,  Joyce  ; see  how  it  slopes  straight  away 
back.  Look  at  that  noble  space  between  his  nose  and  his 

F 


66 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


upper  lip — the  ape  type,*  my  friend — the  ape  type!  That’s 
one  of  your  hereditary  rulers,  J oyce,  my  boy ! That 
fellow  sits  and  votes  for  you  and  me,  bless  him ! He’s 
gone  in  now  to  improve  his  mind  with  the  literature 
of  comic  songs,  and  the  legs  of  the  ballet,  and  the 
fascinations  of  painted  Jezebels,  and  to  clear  his  brain  with 
drinks  of  turpentine  and  logwood  shavings ! And  that’s  one 
of  our  hereditary  legislators  ! Oh,  Lord,  how  much  longer 
— how  much  longer  ! ” 

The  policeman  on  duty  at  the  door,  whose  mission 
it  was  to  keep  the  pathway  clear,  now  sallied  forth  from 
the  portico  and  promenaded  in  the  little  crowd,  gently 
pushing  his  way  amongst  them  with  a monotonous  cry  of 
“Move  on,  there,  please — move  on  ! ” Joyce  noticed  that 
his  companion  regarded  this  policeman  with  a half-defiant, 
half-pitying  air,  and  the  old  man  said  to  him,  as  they 
resumed  their  walk — 

“ That’s  another  of  the  effects  of  our  blessed  civiliza- 
tion ! That  gawk  in  blucher  boots  and  a felt  helmet — 
that  machine  in  a shoddy  great-coat,  who  can  scarcely 
tell  B from  a bull’s  foot,  and  yet  has  the  power  to  tell  you 
and  me  and  other  men,  who  pay  for  the  paving-rate — ay, 
and  for  the  support  of  such  scum  as  he  is,  for  the  matter  of 
that — to  move  on ! Suppose  you  think  I’m  a rum  un, 
eh  ? ” said  Mr.  Byrne,  suddenly  changing  his  voice  of 
disgust  into  a bantering  tone.  “Not  seen  many  like 
me  before ; don’t  want  to  see  any  more,  perhaps  ? ” 

“ I don’t  say  that,”  said  Joyce,  with  a half  smile 
“but  I confess  the  sentiments  are  new  to  me,  and ” 

“ Brought  up  in  the  country ; my  lord  or  the  squire,, 
eh?  So  pleased  to  receive  notice  coming  out  of  church, 
‘ plucks  the  slavish  hat  from  the  villager’s  head,’  and  all 
that ! Sorry  I’ve  not  a manorial  hall  to  ask  you  into,  but 
such  as  it  is  you’re  welcome.  Hold  hard,  here.” 

The  old  man  stopped  before  a private  door  in  a small 
street  of  very  small  shops  running  between  Leicester 
Square  and  the  Haymarket,  took  out  a key,  and  stood  back 
for  his  companion  to  pass  before  him  into  a dark  and 


A NEW  FRIEND. 


67 


narrow  passage.  When  the  door  was  closed  behind  him, 
Mr.  Byrne  struck  a light,  and  commenced  making  his  way 
up  the  narrow  staircase.  Joyce  followed  him  flight  after 
flight,  and  past  landing  after  landing,  until  at  length  the  top 
story  was  reached.  Then  Mr.  Byrne  took  out  another  key, 
and,  unlocking  the  door  immediately  in  front  of  him, 
entered  the  room  and  bade  his  companion  follow  him. 

Walter  Joyce  found  himself  in  a long  low  room,  with 
a truckle  bed  in  one  corner,  bookshelves  ranged  round  three 
sides,  and  in  the  middle,  over  which  the  curtains  were  now 
drawn,  a large  square  table,  with  an  array  of  knives  and 
scissors  upon  it,  a heap  of  wool  in  one  corner,  and  an  open 
case  of  needles  of  various  kinds,  polished  bright  and 
shining.  On  one  end  of  the  mantelpiece  stood  a glass  case 
containing  a short-horned  white  owl,  stuffed,  and  looking 
wonderfully  sagacious  ; on  the  other  a cock,  with  full  crop 
and  beady  eye,  and  open  bill,  with  one  leg  advanced,  full 
of  self-sufficiency  and  conceit.  Over  the  mantlepiece,  in  a 
long  low  case,  was  an  admirably  carried  out  bit  of  Byrne’s 
art,  representing  the  death-struggles  of  a heron  struck  by 
a hawk.  Both  birds  were  stuffed,  of  course,  but  the 
characteristics  of  each  had  been  excellently  preserved ; the 
delicate  heron  lay  completely  at  the  mercy  of  his  active 
little  antagonist,  whose  “pounce”  had  evidently  just 
been  made,  and  who  with  beak  and  talons  was  settling  his 
prey. 

While  Joyce  was  looking  round  at  these  things,  the  old 
man  had  lit  a lamp  suspended  from  the  ceiling,  and 
another  standing  on  the  square  work-table  ; had  opened  a 
cupboard,  and  from  it  had  produced  a black  bottle,  two 
tumblers,  and  a decanter  of  water ; had  filled  and  lit 
a mighty  pipe,  and  had  motioned  his  companion  to  make 
free  with  the  liquor  and  with  the  contents  of  an  ancient- 
looking tobacco-jar,  which  he  pushed  towards  him. 

“ Smoke,  man ! ” said  he,  puffing  out  a thin  line  of 
vapour  through  his  almost  closed  lips,  and  fanning  it  away 
lazily  with  his  hand — “smoke! — that’s  one  thing  they 
can’t  keep  from  us,  though  they’d  like.  My  lord  should  puff 


68 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


at  his  havannah  while  the  commonalty,  the  plebs,  the 
profanum  vulgus , who  are  hated  and  driven  away,  should 
“ exhale  mundungus,  ill-perfuming  weed  ! ” Thank  God 
we’ve  altered  all  that  since  poor  John  Philips’s  day  ; he’d 
get  better  change  for  his  Splendid  Shilling  now  than  ever 
he  did  in  his  time,  eh?  Talking  Greek  to  you,  am  I?  or 
worse  than  Greek,  for  that  you’d  understand,  I dare  say, 
and  you’ll  never  understand  my  old  mutterings  and 
quotations.  You  can  read  Greek  ? ” 

“ Yes,”  Joyce  said ; “ I am  reckoned  a tolerable 
Grecian.” 

“Indeed!”  said  the  old  man,  with  a grin;  “ah!  no 
doubt  you  were  an  honour  to  your  college.” 

“Unfortunately,”  said  Walter,  “I  have  never  been  to 
college.” 

“ Then  your  state  is  the  more  gracious  ! By  George  ! 
I thought  I’d  picked  up  with  a sucking  don,  all  trencher- 
cap,  and  second  aorist,  and  Conservative  principles,  Church 
and  State,  a big  Bible  with  a sceptre  stretched  across  it, 
and  a fear  of  the  4 swart  mechanics’  bloody  thumbs  ’ 
printed  off  on  my  lord’s  furniture,  as  provided  by  Messrs. 
Jackson  and  Graham ! You  don’t  follow  me,  young 
fellow  ? Like  enough,  like  enough.  I think  myself  I’m 
a little  enigmatical  when  I get  on  my  hobby,  and  it 
requires  a good  steady  stare  of  honest  wonderment,  such 
as  I see  on  your  face  now,  to  bring  me  up  short.  I’m 
brought  up  short  now,  and  can  attend  to  more  sublunary 
matters,  such  as  yours.  Tell  me  about  yourself.” 

“What  shall  I tell  you?”  asked  Joyce.  “I  can  tell 
nothing  beyond  what  you  already  know,  or  can  guess. 

I’m  without  friends,  without  work ; I’ve  lost  hope ” 

“ No,  no,  my  boy ! not  lost,  only  mislaid  it.  We  never 
lose  hope  so  long  as  we’re  good  for  anything  ! Sometimes, 
when  I’ve  been  most  depressed  and  down,  about  the  only 
thing  in  life  that  has  any  interest  for  me  now — and  you’ve 
no  idea  what  that  is,  have  you,  J oyce,  eh  ? ” 

“ No,  indeed ; unless,  perhaps,  youV  children  ! ” 

“ Children  ! Thank  God,  I never  had  a wife  or  a 


A NEW  FRIEND. 


69 


child  to  give  me  a care.  No  ; the  People’s  cause,  my  boy, 
the  People’s  cause  ! That’s  what  I live  for,  and  sometimes, 
as  I’ve  been  saying,  I’ve  been  downhearted  about  that. 
I’ve  seen  the  blood  beating  ns  down  on  the  one  side,  and 
the  money  beating  ns  down  on  the  other,  and  I’ve  thought 
that  it  was  nseless  kicking  against  the  pricks,  and  that  we 
had  better  cave  in  and  give  np ! ” 

“ But  yon  say  yon  never  lost  hope  ? ” 

“ Never,  entirely.  When  I’ve  been  at  my  lowest  ebb, 
when  I’ve  come  home  here  with  the  blood  in  my  veins 
tingling  from  aristocratic  insult,  and  with  worse  than 
that,  contempt  for  my  own  fellow  working-men  surging 
np  in  my  heart,  I’ve  looked  np  at  that  case  there  over  the 
mantelshelf,  and  my  pluck’s  revived.  That’s  a fine  bit  of 
work,  that  is,  done  by  an  old  pupil  of  mine,  who  worked 
his  soul  out  in  the  People’s  cause  in  ’48,  and  died  in  a deep 
decline  soon  after.  But  what  a fancy  the  lad  had ! Look 
at  that  heron  ! Is  not  it  for  all  the  world  like  one  of  your 
long,  limp,  yaw-yaw,  nothing-knowing,  nothing-doing 
young  swells  ? Don’t  you  read  ‘ used-up  ’ in  his  delicate 
plumage,  drooping  wings,  lack-lustre  eye?  And  remark 
how  the  jolly  little  hawk  has  got  him ! No  breed  about 
him ; keen  of  sight,  swift  of  wing,  active  With  beak  and 
talon — that’s  all  he  can  boast  of ; but  he’s  got  the  swell  in 
his  grip,  mind  you  ! And  he’s  only  a prototype  of  what’s 
to  come ! ” 

The  old  man  rose  as  he  spoke,  and  taking  the  lamp 
from  the  table,  raised  it  towards  the  glass  case.  As  he  set 
it  down  again  he  looked  earnestly  at  Joyce,  and  said — 

“You  think  I’m  off  my  head,  perhaps — and  I’m  not 
sure  that  I’m  not  when  I get  upon  this  topic — and  you’re 
thinking  that  at  the  first  convenient  opportunity  you’ll 
slip  away,  with  a ‘ Thank  ye  ! ’ and  leave  the  old  lunatic 
to  his  democratic  ravings  ? But,  like  many  other  lunatics, 
I’m  only  mad  on  one  subject,  and  when  that  isn’t  men- 
tioned I can  converse  tolerably  rationally,  can  perhaps 
even  be  of  some  use  in  advising  one  friendless  and 
destitute.  And  you,  you  say,  are  both.” 


70 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


“ I am,  indeed  ; but  I scarcely  think  you  can  help  me, 
Mr.  Byrne,  though  I don’t  for  an  instant  doubt  your 
friendship  or  your  wish  to  be  of  service.  But  it  happens 
that  the  only  people  from  whom  I can  hope  to  get  any- 
thing in  the  way  of  employment,  employment  that  brings 
money,  belong  to  that  class  against  which  you  have  such 
violent  antipathies,  the — the  ‘ swells,’  as  you  call  them.” 

“ My  dear  young  fellow,  you  mistake  me.  If  you  do 
as  I should  like  you,  as  an  honest  Englishman  with  a 
freeman’s  birthright,  to  do ; if  you  do  as  I myself — old 
Jack  Byrne,  one  of  the  prisoners  of  ’48  ; ‘ Bitter  Byrne,’  as 
they  call  me  at  the  club — if  you  do  as  I do,  you’ll  hate  the 
swells  with  all  your  heart,  but  you’ll  use  ’em.  When 
I was  a young  man,  young  and  foolish,  blind  and  head- 
strong, as  all  young  men  are,  I wouldn’t  take  off  my  cap  to 
a swell,  wouldn’t  take  a swell’s  orders,  wouldn’t  touch  a 
swell’s  money!  Lord  bless  you,  I saw  the  folly  of  that 
years  ago ! I should  have  been  starved  long  since  if 
I hadn’t.  My  business  is  bird-stuffing,  as  you  may  have 
heard  or  guessed ; and  where  should  I have  been  if  I’d 
had  to  live  upon  all  the  orders  for  bird-stuffing  I got  from 
the  labouring  classes  ? They  can’t  stuff  themselves 
enough,  let  alone  their  birds ! The  swells  want  owls,  and 
hawks,  and  pheasants,  and  what  not,  stuffed  with  out- 
spread wings  for  firescreens,  but  the  poor  people  want  the 
fire  itself,  and  want  it  so  badly  that  they  never  holloa  for 
screens,  and  wouldn’t  use  ’em  if  they  had  ’em.  No,  no ; 
hate  the  swells,  my  boy,  but  use  ’em.  What  have  you 
been  ? ” 

“ An  usher  in  a school.” 

“ Of  course ! I guessed  it  would  be  some  of  those 
delightful  occupations  for  which  the  supply  is  unlimited 
and  the  demand  nothing,  but  I scarcely  thought  it  could 
be  so  bad  as  that ! Usher  in  a school ! hewer  in  a coal-pit, 
stone-breaker  on  a country  road,  horse  in  a mill,  anything 
better  than  that ! ” 

“ What  could  I do  ? ” 

“ What  could  you  do  ? Sell  your  books,  pawn  your 


A NEW  FRIEND. 


71 


'watch,  take  a steerage  passage  and  go  out  to  Australia. 
Black  boots,  tend  sheep,  be  cad  to  an  omnibus,  or  shop- 
walker to  a store  out  there ; every  one  of  ’em  better  than 
dragging  on  in  the  conventional  torture  of  this  played-out 
staggering  old  country ! That’s  gassy  a little,  you’ll  think, 
and  so  it  is ; but  I mean  better  than  that.  I’ve  long- 
standing and  intimate  connections  with  the  Zoological 
Acclimatisation  Society  in  Melbourne,  and  if  you  can  pay 
your  passage  out,  I’ll  guarantee  that,  in  the  introductions 
I give  you,  they’ll  find  you  something  to  do.  If  you  can’t 
find  the  money  for  your  passage  out,  perhaps  it  can  be 
found  for  you  ! ” 

Not  since  James  Ashurst’s  death,  not  for  some  weeks 
before  that  event,  indeed,  when  the  stricken  man  had 
taken  leave  of  his  old  pupil  and  friend,  had  Walter  Joyce 
heard  the  words  of  friendship  and  kindness  from  any  man. 
Perhaps,  a little  unmanned  by  the  disappointment  and 
humiliation  he  had  undergone  since  his  arrival  in  London, 
he  was  a little  unmanned  at  this  speech  from  his  newly 
found  friend ; at  all  events,  the  tears  stood  in  his  eyes,  and 
his  voice  was  husky  as  he  replied — 

“ I ought  to  be  very  much  obliged  to  you,  and  indeed, 
indeed  I am ; but  I fear  you’ll  think  me  an  ungrateful  cub 
when  I tell  you  that  I can’t  possibly  go  away  from 
England.  Possibly  is  a strong  word,  but  I mean,  that  I 
can’t  think  of  it  until  I’ve  exhausted  every  means,  every 
chance  of  obtaining  the  barest  livelihood  here ! ” 

The  old  man  eyed  him  from  under  his  bent  brows 
earnestly  for  a moment,  and  then  said  abruptly,  “ Ties, 
eh  ? father  ? ” 

“ No  ! ” said  Joyce,  with  a half  blush — very  young,  you 
see,  and  country  bred — “ as  both  my  mother  and  father  are 
dead,  but — but  there  is ” 

“ Oh,  Lord  ! ” grunted  Mr.  Byrne,  “ of  course  there  is  ; 
there  always  is  in  such  cases ! Blind  old  bat  I was  not  to 
see  it  at  first ! Ah,  she  was  left  lamenting,  and  all  the 
rest  of  it ; quite  knocks  the  Australian  idea  on  the  head  ? 
Now  let  me  think  what  can  be  done  for  you  here  ! There’s 


72 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


Buncombe  and  Co.,  the  publishers,  want  a smart  young 
man,  smart  and  cheap  they  said  in  their  letter,  to 
contribute  to  their  new  Encyclopaedia,  the  Naturalist. 
That’ll  be  one  job  for  you,  though  it  won’t  be  much.” 

“ But,  Mr.  Byrne,”  said  Joyce,  “ I have  no  knowledge, 
or  very  little,  of  natural  history.  Certainly  not  enough 
to ” 

“ Not  too  much  to  prevent  your  being  too  proud  to  take 
a hint  or  two  from  Goldsmith’s  Animated  Nature , my  boy, 
as  he  took  several  from  those  who  preceded  him.  That, 
and  a German  book  or  two  you’ll  find  on  the  shelves — you 
understand  German?  that’s  right — will  help  you  to  all  the 
knowledge  Buncombe  will  require  of  you,  or  all  they  ought 
to  expect,  for  the  matter  of  that,  at  ten-and-six  the  column. 
You  can  come  here  of  a morning — you  won’t  interfere  with 
me — and  grind  away  until  dark,  when  we’ll  have  a walk 
and  a talk ; you  shall  tell  me  all  about  yourself,  and  we’ll 
see  what  more  can  be  done,  and  then  we’ll  have  some  food 
at  Bliffkins’s  and  learn  all  that’s  going  on ! ” 

“ I don’t  know  how  to  thank  you,”  commenced  Joyce. 

“ Then  don’t  attempt  to  learn  ! ” said  the  old  man. 
“ Does  it  suit  you,  as  a beginning  only,  mind ! do  you 
agree  to  try  it — we  shall  do  better  things  yet,  I hope  • but 
will  you  try  it  ? ” 

“ I will  indeed ! If  you  only  knew — — 99 
“ I do  : good  night ! I got  up  at  daybreak,  and  ought 
to  have  been  in  bed  long  since.  Good  night ! ” 

Not  since  he  had  been  in  London,  had  Walter  Joyce 
been  so  light  of  heart  as  when  he  closed  Mr.  Byrne’s  door 
behind  him.  Something  to  do  at  last ! He  felt  inclined 
to  cry  out  for  joy ; he  longed  for  some  one  to  whom  he 
could  impart  his  good  fortune. 

His  good  fortune  ! As  he  sat  upon  his  wretched  bed  in 
his  tiny  lodging,  luxurious  words  rang  in  his  ears.  “ And 
the  chance  of  achieving  fame  and  fortune,  keep  that  in  the 
foreground ! ” Fame  and  fortune ! And  he  had  been 
overjoyed  because  he  had  obtained  a chance  of  earning  a 
few  shillings  as  a bookseller’s  hack,  a chance  for  which  he 


FLITTING. 


73 


was  indebted  to  a handicraftsman.  But  a poor  first  step 
towards  fame  and  fortune,  Marian  would  think  ! He 
understood  how  utter  had  been  her  inexperience  and  his 
own;  he  had  learned  the  wide  distance  between  the 
fulfilment  of  such  hopes  as  theirs,  and  the  best  of  the  bare 
possibilities  which  the  future  held  for  them,  and  the  pain 
which  this  knowledge  brought  him,  more  for  the  sake  of  his 
own  share  in  it,  was  doubly  keen  for  hers.  It  was  very 
hard  for  Walter  Joyce  to  have  to  suffer  the  terrible 
disappointment  and  disenchantment  of  experience  ; but  it 
was  far  harder  for  him  to  have  to  cause  her  to  share  them. 
Marian  would  indeed  think  it  a “poor  first  step.”  He 
little  knew  how  much  more  decisive  a one  she  wa& 
about  to  take  herself. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

FLITTING. 

Marian  Ashurst  dearly  loved  her  home.  To  her  con- 
centrative  and  self-contained  nature  local  associations  were 
peculiarly  precious ; the  place  in  which  she  had  lived  the 
life  so  essentially  her  own  was  very  dear.  The  shabby 
old  house,  though  she  perfectly  understood  its  shabbiness, 
and  would  have  prized  the  power  of  renovating  and  adorn- 
ing it  as  thoroughly  as  any  petite  maitresse  would  have 
prized  the  power  of  adorning  her  bijou  residence  with  all 
the  prettiness  of  modern  upholstery,  was  a shrine  in  her 
eyes.  Base  and  unbeautiful,  but  sacred,  the  place  in 
which  her  father  had  dutifully  and  patiently  passed  his 
laborious  life — had  it  not  been  wasted  ? the  proud  discon- 
tented spirit  asked  itself  many  a time,  but  found  no  voice 
to  answer  “ no.” 

She  had  often  pictured  to  her  fancy  what  the  house 
might  have  been  made,  if  there  had  but  been  money  to 
make  it  anything  with,  money  to  do  anything  with;  if 


74 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


only  they  had  not  always  been  so  helpless,  so  burdened  with 
the  especially  painful  load  of  genteel  poverty.  She  had 
exercised  her  womanly  ingenuity,  put  forth  her  womanly 
tastes,  so  far  as  she  could,  and  the  house  wras  better  than 
might  have  been  expected  under  ail  the  circumstances; 
but  ingenuity  and  taste,  which  double  the  effect  of  money 
when  united  to  that  useful  agency,  are  not  of  much  avail 
without  it,  and  will  not  supply  curtains  and  carpet,  paint, 
varnishing,  and  general  upholstery.  There  was  not  a 
superfluous  ornament,  and  there  were  many  in  the  drawing- 
rooms at  Woolgreaves  very  offensive  to  her  instinctively 
correc-t  taste, — whose  price  would  not  have  materially 
altered  the  aspect  of  Marian  Ashurst’s  home,  as  she  had 
recognised  with  much  secret  bitterness  of  spirit,  on  her 
first  visit  to  the  Cres wells.  She  would  have  made  the  old 
house  pretty  and  pleasant,  if  she  could,  especially  while  he 
lived,  to  whom  its  prettiness  and  pleasantness  might  have 
brought  refreshment  of  spirit,  and  a little  cheerfulness  in 
the  surroundings  of  his  toilsome  life;  but  she  loved  it, 
notwithstanding  its  dulness  and  its  frigid  shabbiness,  and 
the  prospect  of  being  obliged  to  leave  it  gave  her  exquisite 
pain.  Marian  was  surprised  when  she  discovered  that  her 
feelings  on  this  point  were  keener  than  those  of  her 
mother.  She  had  anticipated,  with  shrinking  and  re- 
luctance of  whose  intensity  she  felt  ashamed,  the  difficulty 
she  should  experience  when  that  last  worst  necessity  must 
arise,  when  her  mother  must  leave  the  home  of  so  many 
years,  and  the  scene  of  her  tranquil  happiness.  Mrs. 
Ashurst  had  been  a very  happy  woman,  notwithstanding 
her  delicate  health,  and  the  difficulties  it  had  brought  upon 
the  little  household.  In  the  first  place,  she  was  naturally 
of  a placid  temperament.  In  the  second,  her  husband  told 
her  as  little  as  possible  of  the  constantly  pressing,  hope- 
lessly inextricable  trouble  of  his  life.  And  lastly,  Mrs. 
Ashurst’s  inexperience  prevented  her  realising  danger  in 
the  future  from  any  source  except  that  one  whence  it  had 
actually  come,  fallen  in  its  fullest,  fatalmost  might — the 
sickness  and  death  of  her  husband. 


FLITTING. 


75 


When  that  tremendous  blow  fell  upon  her,  it  stunned 
the  widow.  She  could  not  grieve,  she  could  not  care  about 
anything  else.  She  was  not  a woman  of  an  imaginative 
turn  of  mind ; feeling  had  always  been  powerful  and  deep 
in  her ; but  fancy  had  ever  been  active,  so  that  when  the 
one  awful  and  overwhelming  fact  existed,  it  was  quite 
enough  for  her,  it  swamped  everything  else,  it  needed  not 
to  bring  up  any  reinforcements  to  her  discomfiture.  She 
was  ready  to  go  anywhere  with  Marian,  to  do  anything 
which  Marian  advised  or  directed.  The  old  house  was 
to  be  left,  a new  home  was  to  be  sought  for.  A stranger 
was  coming  to  be  the  master  where  her  husband’s  firm  but 
gentle  rule  had  made  itself  loved,  respected,  and  obeyed 
for  so  long ; a stranger  was  to  sit  in  her  husband’s  seat, 
and  move  about  the  house  where  his  step  and  his  voice 
were  heard  no  more,  listened  for  no  longer,  not  even  now, 
in  the  first  confused  moments  of  waking  after  the  blessed 
oblivion  of  sleep. 

And  in  that  awful  fact  all  was  included.  Poor  Mrs. 
Ashurst  cared  little  for  the  linen  and  the  china  now. 
Whether  they  should  be  packed  up  and  removed  to  the 
humble  lodgings  which  were  to  be  the  next  home  of  herself 
and  her  daughter,  or  whether  Mr.  Ashurst’s  successor 
should  be  asked  to  take  them  at  a valuation,  were  points 
which  she  left  to  Marian’s  decision.  She  had  not  any 
interest  in  anything  of  the  kind  now.  It  wras  time  that 
Marian’s  mind  should  be  made  up  on  these  and  other 
matters ; and  the  girl,  notwithstanding  her  premature 
gravity  and  her  habit  of  decision,  found  her  task  difficult 
in  fact  and  sentiment.  Her  mother  was  painfully  quiescent, 
hopelessly  resigned.  In  every  word  and  look  she  ex- 
pressed plainly  that  life  had  come  to  a standstill  for  her, 
that  she  could  no  longer  feel  any  interest  or  take  any 
active  part  in  its  conduct ; and  thus  she  depressed  Marian 
very  much,  who  had  her  own  sense  of  impending  disap- 
pointment and  imperative  effort,  in  addition  to  their 
common  sorrow,  to  struggle  against. 

Mrs.  Ashurst  and  her  daughter  had  seen  a good  deal  of 


76 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


tlie  family  at  Woolgreaves  since  tlie  day  on  which  Marian’s 
cherished  belief  in  the  value  and  delight  of  wealth  had 
been  strengthened  by  that  visit  to  the  splendid  dwelling 
of  her  father’s  old  friend.  The  young  ladies  had  quite 
“ taken  to  ” Mrs.  Ashurst,  and  Mrs.  Ashurst  had  almost 
“taken  to”  them.  They  came  into  Helmingham  fre- 
quently, and  never  without  bringing  welcome  contributions 
from  the  large  and  lavishly  kept  gardens  at  Woolgreaves. 
They  tried,  in  many  girlish  and  unskilful  ways,  to  be 
intimate  with  Marian ; but  they  felt  they  did  not  succeed, 
and  only  their  perception  of  their  uncle’s  wishes  prevented 
their  giving  up  the  effort.  Marian  was  very  civil,  very 
much  obliged  for  their  kindness  and  attention;  but  un- 
cordial, “ un-getatable,”  Maude  Creswell  aptly  described  it. 

The  condition  of  Mr.  Ashurst’s  affairs  had  not  proved 
to  be  quite  so  deplorable  as  had  been  supposed.  There 
was  a small  insurance  on  his  life  ; there  were  a few  trifling 
sums  due  to  him,  which  the  debtors  made  haste  to  pay, 
owing,  indeed,  to  the  immediate  application  made  to  them 
by  Mr.  Creswell,  who  interfered  as  actively  as  unostenta- 
tiously on  behalf  of  the  bereaved  woman ; altogether  a 
little  sum  remained,  which  would  keep  them  above  want, 
or  the  almost  equally  painful  effort  of  immediate  exertion 
to  earn  their  own  living,  with  management.  Yes,  that  was 
the  qualification  which  Marian  understood  thoroughly, 
understood  to  mean  daily  and  hourly  self-denial,  watchful- 
ness, and  calculation,  and  more  and  worse  than  that — the 
termination  on  her  part  of  the  hope  of  preventing  her 
mother’s  missing  the  material  comforts  which  had  been 
procured  and  preserved  for  her  by  a struggle  whose 
weariness  she  had  never  been  permitted  to  comprehend. 

The  old  house  had  been  shabby  and  poor,  but  it  had 
been  comfortable.  It  had  given  them  space  and  cleanli- 
ness, and  there  was  no  vulgarity  in  its  meagreness.  But 
the  only  order  of  lodgings  to  which  her  mother  and  she 
could  venture  to  aspire  was  that  which  invariably  com- 
bines the  absence  of  space  and  of  cleanliness  with  the 
presence  of  tawdriness  and  discomfort.  And  this  must 


FLITTING. 


77 


last  until  Walter  should  be  able  to  rescue  them  from 
it.  She  could  not  suffice  to  that  rescue  herself,  but  he 
would.  He  must  succeed  ! Had  he  not  every  quality, 
every  facility,  and  the  strongest  of  motives?  She  felt 
this — that,  in  her  case,  the  strongest  motive  would  have 
been  the  desire  for  success,  per  se  ; but  in  his  the  strongest 
was  his  love  of  her.  She  recognised  this,  she  knew  this, 
she  admired  it  in  an  odd  abstract  kind  of  way ; when  her 
heart  was  sufficiently  disengaged  from  pressing  care  to 
find  a moment  for  any  kind  of  joy,  she  rejoiced  in  it ; but 
she  knew  she  could  not  imitate  it — that  was  not  in  her. 
She  had  not  much  experience  of  herself  yet,  and  the 
process  of  self-analysis  was  not  habitual  to  her ; but  she 
felt  instinctively  that  the  more  selfish  instincts  of  love 
were  hers,  its  noble  influences,  its  profounder  motives  her 
lover’s. 

It  was,  then,  to  him  she  had  to  look,  in  him  she  had  to 
trust,  for  the  rescue  that  was  to  come  in  time.  In  how 
much  time  ? in  how  little  ? Ah,  there  was  the  ever- 
present, ever-pressing  question,  and  Marian  brought  to  its 
perpetual  repetition  all  the  importance,  all  the  unreason- 
able measurement  of  time,  all  the  ignorance  of  its  ex- 
ceeding brevity  and  insignificance  inseparable  from  her 
youth. 

She  had  nearly  completed  the  preparations  for  de- 
parture from  the  old  home ; the  few  possessions  left  her 
and  her  mother  were  ready  for  removal ; a lodging  in  the 
village  had  been  engaged,  and  the  last  few  days  were  drag- 
ging themselves  heavily  over  the  heads  of  Mrs.  Ashurst 
and  Marian,  when  Mr.  Creswell,  having  returned  to 
Woolgreaves  after  a short  absence,  came  to  see  them. 

Mrs.  Ashurst  was  walking  in  the  neglected  garden,  and 
had  reached  the  far  end  of  the  little  extent  when  Mr. 
Creswell  arrived  at  the  open  door  of  the  house.  A 
woman-servant,  stolid  and  sturdy,  was  passing  through 
the  red-tiled  square  hall. 

“ Is  Mrs.  Ashurst  in  ? ” asked  the  visitor.  “ Mrs. 
Ashurst  is  in  the  garden,  I see — don’t  disturb  her.” 


78 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


Marian,  who  had  heard  the  voice,  answered  Mr.  Ores- 
well’s  question  by  appearing  on  the  threshold  of  the  room 
which  had  been  her  father’s  study,  and  which,  since  his 
death,  her  mother  and  she  had  made  their  sitting-room. 
She  looked  weary ; the  too  bright  colour  which  fatigue 
brings  to  some  faces  was  on  hers,  and  her  eyelids  were  red 
and  heavy ; her  black  dress,  which  had  the  limp,  un- 
graceful, lustreless  look  of  mourning  attire  too  long  unre- 
newed, hung  on  her  fine  upright  figure  after  a fashion 
which  told  how  little  the  girl  cared  how  she  looked ; and 
the  hand  she  first  held  out  to  Mr.  Creswell,  and  then 
drew  back  with  a faint  smile,  was  covered  with  dust. 

“I  can’t  shake  hands,”  she  said ; “I  have  been  tying  up 
the  last  bundles  of  books  and  papers,  and  my  hands  are 
disgraceful.  Come  in  here,  Mr.  Creswell ; I believe  there 
is  one  unoccupied  chair.” 

He  followed  her  into  the  study,  and  took  the  seat  she 
pointed  out,  while  she  placed  herself  on  a pile  of  folios 
which  lay  on  the  floor  in  front  of  the  low  wide  window., 
Marian  laid  her  arm  upon  the  window-sill,  and  leaned  her 
head  back  against  one  of  the  scanty  frayed  curtains.  Her 
eyes  closed  for  a moment,  and  a slight  shudder  passed 
over  her. 

“You  are  very  tired,  Miss  Ashurst,  quite  worn-out,” 
said  Mr.  Creswell;  “you  have  been  doing  too  much — 
packing  all  those  books,  I suppose.” 

“ Yes,”  said  Marian,  “ I looked  to  that  myself,  and, 
indeed,  there  was  nobody  else  to  do  it.  But  it  is  tiring 
work,  and  dirty,” — she  struck  her  hands  together,  and 
shook  her  dress,  so  that  a shower  of  dust  fell  from  it — 
“and  sad  work  besides.  You  know,  Mr.  Creswell ” — here 
her  face  softened  suddenly,  and  her  voice  fell — “ how 
much  my  father  loved  his  books.  It  is  not  easy  to  say 
good-bye  to  them ; it  is  like  a faint  echo,  strong  enough 
to  pain  one,  though,  of  the  good-bye  to  himself.” 

“ But  why  are  you  obliged  to  say  good-bye  to  them  ? ” 
asked  Mr.  Creswell,  with  genuine  anxiety  and  compassion. 

“ What  could  we  do  with  them  ? ” said  Marian ; 


FLITTING. 


79 

“there’s  no  place  to  keep  them.  We  must  have  taken 
another  room  specially  for  them  if  we  took  them  to  our 
lodgings,  and  there  is  no  one  to  buy  them  here,  so  we  are 
going  to  send  them  to  London  to  be  sold.  I suppose  they 
will  bring  a very  small  sum  indeed — nothing,  perhaps, 
■when  the  expenses  are  paid.  But  it  is  our  only  means  of 
disposing  of  them;  so  I have  been  dusting  and  sorting 
and  arranging  them  all  day,  and  I am  tired  and  dusty  and 
sick — sick  at  heart.” 

Marian  leaned  her  head  on  the  arm  which  lay  on  the 
window-sill,  and  looked  very  forlorn.  She  also  looked  very 
pretty,  and  Mr.  Creswell  thought  so.  This  softened  mood, 
so  unusual  to  her,  became  her,  and  the  little  touch  of  con- 
fidence in  her  manner,  equally  unusual,  flattered  him.  He 
felt  an  odd  sort  of  difficulty  in  speaking  to  her — to  this 
young  girl,  his  old  friend’s  orphan  child,  one  to  whom  he 
intended  so  kindly,  towards  whom  his  position  was  so  en- 
tirely one  of  patronage,  not  in  any  offensive  sense,  of 
course,  but  still  of  patronage. 

“I — I never  thought  of  this,”  he  said  hesitatingly; 
“ I ought  to  have  remembered  it,  of  course ; no  doubt  the 
books  must  be  a difficulty  to  you — a difficulty  to  keep  and 
a harder  one  to  part  with.  But  bless  me,  my  dear  Miss 
Ashurst,  you  say  there  is  no  one  here  to  buy  them — you 
did  not  remember  me  ? Why  did  you  not  remember  me  ? 
Of  course  I will  buy  them.  I shall  be  only  too  delighted 
to  buy  them,  to  have  the  books  my  good  friend  loved  so 
much — of  course  I shall.” 

“I  had  seen  your  library  at  Woolgreaves,”  said  Marian, 
replying  to  Mr.  Creswell’s  first  impetuous  question,  “ and 
I could  not  suppose  you  wanted  more  books,  or  such 
shabby  ones  as  these.” 

“ You  judge  of  books  like  a lady,  then,  though  you  were 
your  father’s  companion  as  well  as  his  pet,”  said  Mr. 
Creswell,  smiling.  “ Those  shabby  books  are,  many  of 
them,  much  more  valuable  than  my  well-dressed  shelf- 
fillers.  And  even  if  they  were  not,  I should  prize  them 
for  the  same  reason  that  you  do,  and  almost  as  much — yes, 


80 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


Miss  Ashurst,  almost  as  much.  Men  are  awkward  about 
saying  such  things,  but  I may  tell  his  daughter  that  but 
for  James  Ashurst  I never  should  have  known  the  value 
of  books — in  other  than  a commercial  sense,  I mean.” 

“ I don’t  know  what  they  are  worth,”  said  Marian,  “ but 
if  you  will  find  out,  and  buy  them,  my  mother  and  I will 
be  very  thankful.  I know  it  will  be  a great  relief  to  her 
to  think  of  them  at  Woolgreaves,  and  all  together.  She 
has  fretted  more  about  my  father’s  books  being  dispersed, 
and  going  into  the  hands  of  strangers,  than  about  any 
other  secondary  cause  of  sorrow.  The  other  things  she 
takes  quietly  enough.” 

The  widow  could  be  seen  from  the  window  by  them 
both  as  she  pursued  her  monotonous  walk  in  the  garden, 
with  her  head  bowed  down  and  her  figure  so  expressive 
of  feebleness. 

“Does  she?”  said  Mr.  Creswell.  “I  am  very  glad  to 
hear  that.  Then” — and  here  Mr.  Creswell  gave  a little 
sigh  of  relief — “ we  will  look  upon  the  matter  of  the  books 
as  arranged,  and  to-morrow  I will  send  for  them.  Give 
yourself  no  further  trouble  about  them.  Fletcher  shall 
settle  it  all.” 

“You  will  have  them  valued?”  Marian  asked  with 
business-like  seriousness. 

“ Certainly,”  returned  Mr.  Creswell.  “ And  now  tell 
me  what  your  plans  are,  and  where  these  lodgings  are  to 
which  you  alluded  just  now.  Maude  and  Gertrude  have 
not  seen  you,  they  tell  me,  since  you  took  them  ? ” 

“No,”  said  Marian,  without  the  least  tone  of  regret 
in  her  voice ; “ we  have  not  met  since  your  visit  to  ' 
Manchester.  Miss  Creswell’s  cold  has  kept  her  at  home, 
and  I have  been  much  too  busy  to  get  so  far  as  Wool- 
greaves.” 

“ Your  mother  has  seen  my  nieces  ? ” 

“Yes;  Miss  Gertrude  Creswell  called,  and  took  her 
for  a drive,  and  she  remained  to  lunch  at  Woolgreaves. 
But  that  was  one  day  when  I was  lodging-hunting — 
nothing  had  then  been  settled.” 


FLITTING. 


81 


“ The  girls  are  very  fond  of  Mrs.  Ashurst.” 

“ They  are  very  kind,”  said  Marian  absently.  The 
Misses  Creswell  were  absolutely  uninteresting  to  her,  and 
as  yet  Marian  Ashurst  had  never  pretended  to  entertain 
a feeling  she  did  not  experience.  The  threshold  of  that 
particular  school  of  life  in  which  the  art  of  feigning  is 
learned  lay  very  near  her  feet  now,  but  they  had  not 
yet  crossed  it. 

Marian  and  Mr.  Creswell  remained  a long  time  together 
before  Mrs.  Ashurst  came  in.  The  girl  spoke  to  the  old 
gentleman  with  more  freedom  and  with  more  feeling  than 
on  any  previous  occasion  of  iheir  meeting;  and  Mr. 
Creswell  began  to  think  how  interesting  she  was,  in 
comparison  with  Maude  and  Gertrude,  for  instance;  how 
much  sense  she  had,  how  little  frivolity.  How  very 
good-looking  she  was  also ; he  had  no  idea  she  ever  would 
have  been  so  handsome — yes,  positively  handsome — he 
used  the  word  in  his  thoughts — she  certainly  had  not 
possessed  anything  like  it  when  he  had  seen  her  formerly 
— a dark,  prim,  old-fashioned  kind  of  girl,  going  about 
her  father’s  study  with  an  air  of  quiet  appreciative 
sharpness  and  shrewdness  which  he  did  not  altogether 
like.  But  she  really  had  become  quite  handsome  then, 
in  her  poor  dress,  with  her  grieved,  tired1  face,  her  hair 
carelessly  pushed  off  it  any  way,  and  her  hands  rough 
and  soiled;  she  had  made  him  recognise  and  feel  that 
she  had  the  gift  of  beauty  also. 

Mr.  Creswell  thought  about  this  when  he  had  taken 
leave  of  Mrs.  Ashurst  and  Marian,  having  secured  their 
promise  to  come  to  Woolgreaves  on  the  day  but  one  after* 
when  he  hoped  Marian  would  assist  him  in  assigning 
places  to  the  books,  which  she  felt  almost  reconciled  to 
part  with  under  these  new  conditions.  He  thought  about 
them  a good  deal,  and  tried  to  make  out,  among  the 
dregs  of  his  memory,  who  it  was  who  had  said  within  his 
hearing,  when  Marian  was  a child,  “Yes,  she’s  a smart 
little  girl,  sure  enough,  and  a dead  hand  at  a bargain.” 
Marian  Ashurst  thought  about  Mr.  Creswell  after  he 

a 


82 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


left  lier  and  her  mother.  Mrs.  Ashurst  was  very  much 
relieved  and  gratified  by  his  kindness  about  the  books,  as 
was  Marian  also.  But  the  mother  and  daughter  regarded 
the  incident  from  different  points  of  view.  Mrs.  Ashurst 
dwelt  on  the  kindness  of  heart  which  dictated  the  purchase 
of  the  dead  friend’s  books  as  at  once  a tribute  to  the  old 
friendship  and  a true  and  delicate  kindness  to  the  survivors. 
Marian  saw  all  that,  but  she  dwelt  rather  on  the  felicitous 
condition  which  rendered  it  easy  to  indulge  such  impulses. 
Here  was  another  instance,  and  in  her  favour,  of  the  value 
of  money. 

“It  has  made  more  than  one  difference  to  me,”  she 
thought  that  night,  when  she  was  alone,  and  looked  round 
the  dismantled  study;  “it  has  made  me  like  old  Mr. 
Creswell,  and  hitherto  I have  only  envied  him.” 

“Do  be  persuaded,  dear  Mrs.  Ashurst,”  said  Maude 
Creswell,  in  a tone  of  sincere  and  earnest  entreaty.  She 
had  made  her  appearance  at  the  widow’s  house  early  on 
the  day  which  succeeded  her  uncle’s  visit,  and  had  pre- 
sented, in  her  own  and  in  her  sister’s  name,  as  well  as  in 
that  of  Mr.  Creswell,  a petition,  which  she  was  now 
backing  up  with  much  energy.  “ Do  come  and  stay  with 
us.  We  are  not  going  to  have  any  company;  there  shall 
be  nothing  that  you  can  possibly  dislike.  And  Gerty  and 
I wall  not  tease  you  or  Miss  Ashurst ; and  you  shall  not 
be  worried  by  Tom  or  anything.  Do  come,  dear,  dear 
Mrs.  Ashurst ; never  mind  the  nasty  lodgings ; they  can 
go  on  getting  properly  aired,  and  cleaned,  and  so  on,  until 
you  are  tired  of  Woolgreaves,  and  then  you  can  go  to  them 
at  any  time.  But  not  from  your  own  house,  where  you 
have  been  so  long,  into  that  little  place,  in  a street,  too. 
Say  you  will  come,  now  do.” 

Mrs.  Ashurst  was  surprised  and  pleased.  She  recog- 
nised the  girl’s  frank  affection  for  her;  she  knew  the 
generous  kindness  of  heart  which  made  her  so  eager  to  do 
her  uncle’s  bidding,  and  secure  to  those  desolate  women 
a long  visit  to  the  splendid  home  he  had  given  his  nieces. 


THE  TENTH  EARL. 


83 


Nothing  but  a base  mean  order  of  pride  could  have 
revolted  against  the  offer  so  made  and  so  pressed.  Mrs. 
Ashurst  yielded,  and  Maude  Creswell  returned  to  her 
uncle  in  high  delight  to  announce  that  she  had  been 
successful  in  the  object  of  her  embassy. 

“ How  delightful  it  will  be  to  have  the  dear  old  lady 
here,  Gerty ! ” said  Maude  to  her  sister.  “ The  more  I 
see  of  her  the  better  X like  her ; and  I mean  to  be  so  kind 
and  attentive  to  her.  I think  Miss  Ashurst  is  too  grave, 
and  she  always  seems  so  busy  and  preoccupied  : I don’t 
think  she  can  rouse  her  mother’s  spirits  much.” 

“No,  I think  not,”  said  Gertrude.  “X  like  the  old 
lady  very  much  too ; but  I don’t  quite  know  about  Miss 
Ashurst;  I think  the  more  I see  of  her,  the  less  I seem 
to  know  her.  You  must  not  leave  her  altogether  to  me, 
Maude.  I wonder  why  one  feels  so  strange  with  her? 
Heigh-ho!”  said  the  girl,  with  a comical  look,  and  a 
shake  of  her  pretty  head,  “I  suppose  it’s  because  she’s 
so  superior.” 

On  the  following  day,  Mrs.  Ashurst  and  Marian  took 
leave  of  their  old  home,  and  were  conveyed  in  one  of 
Mr.  Creswell’s  carriages  to  Woolgreaves. 


CHAPTEE  IX. 

THE  TENTH  EARL. 

Hetherington  House  stands  in  Beaufort  Square,  forming 
one  side  of  that  confessedly  aristocratic  quarter.  The 
house  stands  back  in  melancholy  “ grounds  ” of  dirty 
gravel,  brown  turf,  and  smutted  trees,  while  the  dwarf 
wall  which  forms  the  side  of  the  square,  and  is  indeed 
a sufficiently  huge  brick  screen,  fences  off  the  commonalty, 
and  prevents  them  from  ever  catching  so  much  as  a 
glimpse  of  the  paradise  within,  save  when  the  great 


84 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


gates  are  flung  open  for  the  entrance  or  exit  of  vehicles, 
or  when  the  porter,  so  gorgeous  and  yet  so  simple,  is 
sunning  himself  in  the  calm  evening  air  at  the  small 
postern-door.  The  Countess  of  Hetherington  likes  this 
brick  screen,  and  looks  npon  it  as  a necessary  appanage  of 
her  rank.  When  visitors,  having  exhausted  every  topic 
of  conversation  possible  to  their  great  minds — a feat  which 
is  easily  performed  in  the  space  of  five  minutes — and,  be- 
ginning to  fear  the  immediate  advent  of  brain-softening 
if  not  of  idiotcy,  suddenly  become  possessed  with  a fresh 
idea  after  a lengthened  contemplation  of  the  wall  in  front 
of  them,  and  with  an  air  of  desperation  ask  whether  it 
does  not  make  the  house  dull,  Lady  Hetherington  says 
that,  on  the  contrary,  it  is  the  only  thing  that  renders  the 
house  habitable.  She  confesses  that,  during  the  time  she 
is  compelled  to  be  in  London,  the  sight  of  hack  cabs,  and 
policemen  on  their  beat,  and  those  kind  of  things,  are  not 
absolutely  necessary  to  her  existence,  and  as  Sir  Charles 
Dumfunk  insists  on  her  rooms  facing  the  west,  she  is  glad 
that  the  wall  is  there  to  act  as  a screen.  Oh  yes,  she  is 
perfectly  aware  that  Lord  Letterkenney  had  the  screen  of 
Purcell  House  pulled  down  and  an  open  Italian  fagade 
erected  in  its  place,  the  picture  of  which  was  in  the  illus- 
trated papers ; but  as  Lady  Letterkenney  until  her  marriage 
had  lived  in  Ireland,  and  had  probably  never  seen  any- 
thing human  except  priests  and  pigs,  the  sight  of  civilised 
beings  was  doubtless  an  agreeable  novelty  to  her.  The 
same  circumstances  did  not  exist  in  her,  Lady  Hethering- 
ton’s,  case,  and  she  decidedly  liked  the  screen. 

The  Earl  likes  the  screen  also,  but  he  never  says  any- 
thing about  it,  chiefly  because  no  one  ever  asks  his  opinion 
on  any  subject.  He  likes  it  because  it  is  his,  the  Earl 
of  Hetherington’s,  and  he  likes  looking  at  it  as  he  likes 
looking  at  the  coronet  on  his  plate,  on  his  carriage-panels, 
and  his  horses’  harness,  at  his  family  history  as  set  forth 
by  Burke  and  Debrett,  and  at  the  marginal  illustrations  of 
his  coat-of-arms  as  given  in  those  charming  volumes,  at  his 
genealogical  tree — a mysterious  work  of  art  which  hangs  in 


THE  TENTH  EARL. 


85 


the  library,  looking  something  like  an  enlarged  “ sampler  ” 
worked  by  a school-girl,  and  from  the  contemplation  of 
which  he  derives  intense  delight.  It  does  not  take  a great 
deal  to  fill  Lord  Hetherington’s  soul  with  rapture.  Down 
in  Norfolk  villages,  in  the  neighbourhood  of  his  ancestral 
home,  and  far  away  in  scattered  cottages  on  the  side  of 
green  Welsh  mountains,  where  the  cross-tree  rears  its 
inopportune  head  in  the  midst  of  the  lovely  landscape,  and 
where  smoke  and  coal-dust  permeate  the  soft  delicious  air, 
his  lordship,  as  landlord  and  mine-holder,  is  spoken  of 
with  bated  breath  by  tenants  and  workmen,  and  regarded 
as  one  of  the  hardest-headed,  tightest-fisted  men  of  business 
by  stewards  and  agents.  They  do  not  see  much,  scarcely 
anything,  of  him,  they  say,  and  they  don’t  need  to,  if  he’s 
to  be  judged  by  the  letters  he  writes  and  the  orders  he 
sends.  To  screw  up  the  rents  and  to  lengthen  the  hours 
of  labour  was  the  purport  of  these  letters,  while  their 
style  was  modelled  on  that  used  by  the  Saxon  Franklin  to 
his  hog-hind,  curt,  overbearing,  and  offensive.  Agents 
and  stewards,  recipients  of  these  missives,  say  bitter  words 
about  Lord  Hetherington  in  private,  and  tenants  and 
workmen  curse  him  secretly  as  they  bow  to  his  decree. 
To  them  he  is  a haughty,  selfish,  grinding  aristocrat,  with- 
out a thought  for  any  one  but  himselfs ; whereas  in  reality 
he  is  a chuckle-headed  nobleman,  with  an  inordinate 
idea  of  his  position  certainly,  but  kindly  hearted,  a slave 
to  his  wife,  and  with  one  great  desire  in  life,  a desire  to 
distinguish  himself  somehow,  no  matter  how. 

He  had  tried  politics.  When  a young  man  he  had  sat 
as  Lord  West  for  his  county,  and  the  first  Conservative 
ministry  which  came  into  office  after  he  had  succeeded  to 
his  title,  remembering  the  service  which  Lord  West  had 
done  them  in  roaring,  hooting,  and  yar-yaring  in  the 
House  of  Commons,  repaid  the  obligation  by  appointing 
the  newly  fledged  Earl  of  Hetherington  to  be  the  head  of 
one  of  the  inferior  departments.  Immensely  delighted 
was  his  lordship  at  first ; went  down  to  the  office  daily,  to 
the  intense  astonishment  of  the  departmental  private 


86 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


secretary,  whose  official  labours  bad  hitherto  been  confined 
to  writing  about  four  letters  a day,  took  upon  himself  to 
question  some  of  the  suggestions  which  were  made  for  his 
approval,  carped  at  the  handwriting  of  the  clerks,  and  for 
at  least  a week  thought  he  had  at  length  found  his  proper 
place  in  the  world,  and  had  made  an  impression.  But  it 
did  not  last.  The  permanent  heads  of  the  department 
soon  found  him  out,  scratched  through  the  external  cuticle 
of  pride  and  pomposity,  and  discovered  the  true  obstinate 
dullard  underneath.  And  then  they  humoured  him,  and 
led  him  by  the  nose  as  they  had  led  many  a better  man 
before  him,  and  he  subsided  into  a nonentity,  and  then  his 
party  went  out  of  office,  and  when  they  came  in  again 
they  declined  to  reappoint  Lord  Hetherington,  though  he 
clamoured  ever  so  loudly. 

Social  science  was  the  field  in  which  his  lordship  next 
disported  himself,  and  prolix,  pragmatical,  and  eccentric  as 
are  its  professors  generally,  he  managed  to  excel  them  all. 
Lord  Hetherington  had  his  theories  on  the  utilisation  of 
sewage  and  the  treatment  of  criminals,  on  strikes  and  trades 
unions — the  first  of  wThich  he  thought  should  be  suppressed 
by  the  military,  the  second  put  down  by  Act  of  Parlia- 
ment— and  on  the  proper  position  of  women;  on  which 
subject  he  certainly  spoke  with  more  than  his  usual  spirit 
and  fluency.  But  he  was  a bore  upon  all ; and  at  length 
the  social-science  audiences,  so  tolerant  of  boredom,  felt 
that  they  could  stand  him  no  longer,  and  coughed  him 
down  gently  but  firmly  when  he  attempted  to  address 
them.  Lord  Hetherington  then  gave  up  social  science  in 
disgust,  and  let  his  noble  mind  lie  fallow  for  a few  months, 
during  which  time  he  employed  himself  in  cutting  his 
noble  fingers  with  a turning-lathe  which  he  caused  to  be 
erected  in  his  mansion,  and  which  amused  him  very  much  : 
until  it  suddenly  occurred  to  him  that  the  art  of  book- 
binding was  one  in  which  his  taste  and  talent  might  find 
a vent.  So  the  room  in  which  the  now  deserted  turning- 
lathe  stood  was  soon  littered  with  scraps  of  leather  and 
floating  fragments  of  gilt-leaf;  and  there  his  lordship 


THE  TENTH  EARL. 


87 


spent  hours  every  day  looking  on  at  two  men  very  hard  at 
work  in  their  shirt-sleeves,  and  occasionally  handing  them 
the  tools  they  asked  for : and  thus  he  practised  the  art  of 
hook-binding.  Every  one  said  it  was  an  odd  thing  for  a 
man  to  take  to,  but  every  one  knew  that  Lord  Hethering- 
ton  was  an  odd  man ; consequently  no  one  was  astonished, 
after  the  bound  volumes  had  been  duly  exhibited  to  dining 
or  calling  friends,  and  had  elicted  the  various  outbursts  of 
“ Jove ! ” “ Ah  ! ” “ Charming  ! ” “ Quite  too  nice ! ” and 
“ Can’t  think  how  he  does  it,  eh  ? 55  which  politeness  de- 
manded— no  one  was  astonished  to  hear  that  his  lordship, 
panting  for  something  fresh  in  which  to  distinguish  him- 
self, had  found  it  in  taxidermy,  which  was  now  absorbing 
all  the  energies  of  his  noble  mind.  The  receipt  of  a packet 
of  humming-birds,  presented  by  a poor  relation  in  the 
navy,  first  turned  Lord  Hetherington’s  thoughts  to  this 
new  pursuit ; and  he  acted  with  such  promptitude,  that 
before  the  end  of  a week  Mr.  Byrne — small,  shrunken,  and 
high-shouldered — had  taken  the  place  at  the  bench  erst 
occupied  by  the  stalwart  men  in  shirt-sleeves ; but  the 
smell  of  paste  and  gum  had  been  supplanted  by  that  of 
pungent  chemicals,  the  floor  was  strewn  with  feathers  and 
wool  instead  of  leather  and  gilt-leaf,  and  his  lordship, 
still  looking  on  and  handing  tools  to  his  companion,  was 
stuffing  birds  very  much  in  the  same  way  as  he  had  bound 
books. 

It  was  a fine  sight  to  see  old  Jack  Byrne,  “Bitter 
Byrne,’5  the  ultra-radical,  the  sourest-tongued  orator  of  the 
Spartan  Club,  the  ex-Chartist  prisoner,  waited  on  by 
gorgeous  footmen  in  plush  and  silk  stockings,  fed  on 
French  dishes  and  dry  sherry,  and  accepting  it  all  as  if 
he  had  been  born  to  the  situation. 

“ Why  should  I quarrel  with  my  bread  and  butter,  or 
what’s  a devilish  deal  better  than  bread  and  butter,”  he 
asked  in  the  course  of  a long  evening’s  ramble  with  Walter 
Joyce,  “ because  it  comes  from  a representative  of  the  class 
I hate  ? I earn  it,  I work  honestly  and  hard  for  my  wage, 
and  suppose  I am  to  act  up  to  the  sham  self-denial  preached 


88 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


in  some  of  the  prints  which  batten  on  the  great  cause 
without  understanding  or  caring  for  it — suppose  I were  to 
refuse  the  meal  which  my  lord’s  politeness  sends  me,  as 
some  of  your  self-styled  Gracchi  or  Patriots  would  wish, 
how  much  further  should  we  have  developed  the  plans,  or 
by  what  the  more  should  we  have  dealt  a blow  at  the  in- 
stitution we  are  labouring  to  destroy  ? Not  one  jot ! My 
maxim,  as  I have  told  you  before,  is,  use  these  people ! 
Hate  them  if  you  will,  despise  them  as  you  must,  but  use 
them ! ” 

The  old  man’s  vehemence  had  a certain  weight  with 
Joyce,  who,  nevertheless,  was  not  wholly  convinced  as  to 
the  propriety  of  his  friend’s  position,  and  said,  “You 
justify  your  conduct  by  Lord  Hetherington’s,  then  ? You 
use  each  other  ? ” 

“ Exactly  ! My  Lord  Hetherington  in  Parliament  says, 
or  would  say  if  he  were  allowed  the  chance,  but  they  know 
him  too  well  for  that,  so  he  can  only  show  by  his  votes  and 
his  proxies — proxies,  by  the  Lord  ! isn’t  that  a happy  state 
of  things  when  a minister  can  swamp  any  measure  that  he 
chooses  by  pulling  from  his  pocket  a few  papers  sent  to  him 
by  a few  brother  peers,  who  care  so  little  about  the 
question  in  hand  that  they  won’t  even  leave  their  dinner- 
tables  to  come  down  and  hear  it  discussed  ? — says  that  he 
loathes  what  he  is  pleased  to  call  the  lower  classes,  and 
considers  them  unworthy  of  being  represented  in  the 
legislature.  But  then  he  wants  to  stuff  birds,  or  rather  to 
be  known  as  a bird-stuffer  of  taste,  and  none  of  the  House 
of  Peers  can  help  him  there.  So  he  makes  inquiries,  and 
is  referred  to  me,  and  engages  me,  and  we  work  together — 
neither  abrogating  our  own  sentiments.  He  uses  my  skill, 
I take  his  money,  each  has  his  quid  j pro  quo  ; and  if  the  time 
were  ever  to  come, — as  it  may  come,  Walter,  mark  my 
words — as  it  must  come,  for  everything  is  tending  towards 
it, — when  the  battle  of  the  poor  against  the  rich,  the  bees 
against  the  drones,  is  fought  in  this  country,  fought  out,  I 
mean,  practically  and  not  theoretically,  we  shall  each  of 
us,  my  Lord  Hetherington  and  I,  be  found  on  our  re- 


THE  TENTH  EARL. 


89 


spective  sides,  without  the  slightest  obligation  from  one  to 
the  other ! ” 

Joyce  had  come  to  look  forward  to  those  evening  walks 
with  the  old  man  as  the  pleasantest  portion  of  the  day. 
From  nine  till  six  he  laboured  conscientiously  at  the 
natural-history  work  which  Mr.  Byrne  had  procured  for 
him,  dull  uninteresting  work  enough,  but  sufficiently  fairly 
rewarded.  Then  he  met  his  old  friend  at  Bliffkins’s,  and 
after  their  frugal  meal  they  set  out  for  a long  ramble 
through  the  streets.  Byrne  was  full  of  information,  which, 
in  his  worldly  wise  fashion,  he  imparted,  tinged  with 
social  philosophy  or  dashed  with  an  undercurrent  of  his 
own  peculiar  views.  Of  which  an  example.  Walter  Joyce 
had  been  standing  for  five  minutes,  silent,  rapt  in  delight 
at  his  first  view  of  the  Parliament  Houses  as  seen  from 
Westminster  Bridge.  A bright  moonlight  night,  soft, 
dreamy,  even  here,  with  a big  yellow  harvest  moon  coming 
up  from  the  back,  throwing  the  delicate  tracery  into 
splendid  relief,  and  sending  out  the  shadows  thick  and 
black ; the  old  man  looking  on  calmly,  quietly  chuckling 
at  the  irrepressible  enthusiasm  mantling  over  his  young 
friend’s  cheeks  and  gleaming  in  his  eyes. 

“ A fine  place,  lad  ? ” 

“ Fine  ! splendid,  superb  ! ” 

“ Well,  not  to  put  too  fine  a point  upon  it,  we’ll  say  fine. 
Ah,  they  may  blackguard  Barry  as  much  as  they  like — and 
when  it  comes  to  calling  names  and  flinging  mud  in  print, 
mind  you,  I don’t  know  anybody  to  beat  your  architect  or 
your  architect’s  friend — but  there’s  not  another  man 
among  ’em  could  have  done  anything  like  that ! That’s  a 
proper  dignified  house  for  the  Parliament  of  the  People  to 
sit  in — when  it  comes  ! ” 

“ But  it  does  sit  there,  doesn’t  it ! ” 

“It?  What?  The  Parliament  of  the  People?  No, 
sir ; that  sits,  if  you  would  believe  certain  organs  of  the 
press,  up  a court  in  Fleet  Street,  where  it  discusses  the 
affairs  of  the  nation  over  screws  of  shag  tobacco  and  pots 
of  fuurpenny  ale.  What  sits  there  before  us  is  the  Croesus 


90 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


Club,  a select  assemblage  of  between  six  and  seven  hundred 
members,  who  drop  down  here  to  levy  taxes  and  job 
generally  in  the  interval  between  dinner  and  bed.” 

44  Are  they — are  they  there  now  ? ” asked  Joyce  eagerly, 
peering  with  outstretched  neck  at  the  building  before  him. 

“Now?  No,  of  course  not,  man!  They’re  away  at 
their  own  devices,  nine-tenths  of  them  breaking  the  laws 
which  they  helped  to  make,  and  all  enjoying  themselves, 
and  wondering  what  the  devil  people  find  to  grumble  at ! ” 

“ One  of  the  governors  of  the  old  school,  down,  down  at 
Helmingham  ” — a large  knot  swelled  in  Joyce’s  throat  as 
he  said  the  word,  and  nearly  choked  him ; never  before 
had  he  felt  the  place  so  far  away  or  the  days  spent  there 
so  long  removed  from  his  then  life—44  was  a member  of 
Parliament,  I think.  Lord  Beachcroft.  Did  you  ever  hear 
of  him  ? ” 

The  old  man  smiled  sardonically. 

44  Hear  of  him,  man  ? There’s  not  one  of  them  that  has 
made  his  mark,  or  that  is  likely  to  make  his  mark  in  any 
way,  that  I don’t  know  by  sight,  or  that  I haven’t  heard 
speak.  I know  Lord  Beachcroft  well  enough;  he’s  a 
philanthropist,  wants  camphorated  chalk  tooth-powder  for 
the  paupers,  and  horse-exercise  for  the  convicts.  Registered 
among  the  noodles,  ranks  A 1,  weakly  built,  leaden-he'adedr 
and  wants  an  experienced  keeper ! ” 

44  That  doctrine  would  have  been  taken  as  heresy  at 
Plelmingham  ! I know  he  came  there  once  on  our  speech- 
day  to  deliver  the  prizes,  and  the  boys  all  cheered  him  to 
the  echo ! ” 

44  The  boys  ! of  course  they  did ! The  child  is  father 
to  the  man!  I forgot,  people  don’t  read  Wordsworth 
nowadays,  but  that’s  what  he  says,  and  he  and  Tennyson 
are  the  only  poet-philosophers  that  have  risen  amongst  us 
for  many  years ; and  boys  shout,  as  men  would,  at  the 
mere  sight,  at  the  mere  taste  of  a lord ! How  they  like  to 
roll  4 your  lordship  ’ round  their  mouths,  and  fear  lest  they 
should  lose  the  slightest  atom  of  its  flavour  ! Not  that  the 
boys  did  wrong  in  cheering  Lord  Beachcroft ! He’s  harm- 


THE  TENTH  EARL. 


91 


less  enough,  and  well-meaning,  I’m  sure,  and  stands  well 
up  among  the  noodles.  And  it’s  better  to  stand  anywhere 
amongst  them  than  to  be  affiliated  to  the  other  party ! ” 

“ The  other  party  ? Who  are  they,  Mr.  Byrne  ? ” 

“ The  rogues,  lad,  the  rogues ! Bogues  and  noodles 
make  up  the  blessed  lot  of  senators  sitting  in  your  gim- 
crack  palace,  who  vote  away  your  birthright  and  mine,  tax 
the  sweat  of  millions,  bow  to  Gold  Stick  and  kiss  Black 
Rod’s  coat-tails,  send  our  fleets  to  defend  Yon  Sourkraut’s 
honour,  or  our  soldiers  to  sicken  of  jungle  fever  in  pursuit 
of  the  rebel  Lollum  Dha’s  adversaries ! Parliament  ? 
Representatives  of  the  people?  Very  much ! My  gallant 
friend,  all  pipeclay  and  padded  breast,  who  won’t  hear  of 
the  army  estimates  being  reduced ; my  learned  friend,  who 
brings  all  his  forensic  skill  and  all  his  power  of  tongue- 
fence,  first  learned  in  three-guinea  briefs  at  the  Old  Bailey, 
and  now  educated  up  into  such  silvery  eloquence,  into 
play  for  the  chance  of  a judgeship  and  a knighthood ; the 
volatile  Irish  member,  who  subsides  finally  into  the 
consulate  of  Zanzibar ; the  honourable  member,  who,  having 
in  his  early  youth  swept  out  a shop  at  Loughboro’,  and 
arrived  in  London  with  eightpence,  has  accumulated 
millions,  and  is,  of  course,  a strong  Tory,  with  but  two 
desires  in  life — to  keep  down  ‘ the  people,’  and  to  obtain 
a card  for  his  wife  for  the  Premier’s  Saturday  evenings — 
these  are  the  representatives  of  the  people  for  you  ! Bogues 
and  noodles,  noodles  and  rogues.  Don’t  you  like  the 
picture  ? ” 

“ I should  hate  it,  if  I believed  in  it,  Mr.  Byrne  ! ” said 
Joyce,  moving  away,  “ but  I don’t ! You  won’t  think  me 
rude  or  unkind,  but — but  I’ve  been  brought  up  in  so 
widely  different  a faith.  I’ve  been  taught  to  hold  in  such 
reverence  all  that  I hear  you  deny,  that ” 

“ Stick  to  it,  lad  ! hold  to  it  while  you  can  ! ” said  the 
old  man  kindly,  laying  his  hand  on  his  companion’s  arm. 
“ My  doctrines  are  strong  meat  for  babes — too  strong,  I 
dare  say — and  you’re  but  a toothless  infant  yet  in  these 
things,  anyhow ! So  much  the  better  for  you.  I recollect 


-.92 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


a story  of  some  man  who  said  he  was  never  happy  or  well 
after  he  was  told  he  had  a liver ! Go  on  as  long  as  you 
can  in  pleasant  ignorance  of  the  fact  that  you  have  a 
political  liver.  Some  day  it  will  become  torpid  and 
sluggish,  and  then — then  come  and  talk  to  old  Dr.  Byrne. 
Till  then,  he  won’t  attempt  to  alarm  you,  depend  upon  it ! ” 

Not  very  long  to  be  deferred  was  the  day  in  which  the 
political  patient  was  to  come  to  the  political  physician  for 
advice  and  for  treatment. 

Beaufort  Square  looked  hideously  dull  as  Lord  Hether- 
ington  drove  through  it  on  his  way  to  his  home  from  the 
railway  station  a few  days  after  the  conversation  above 
recorded,  and  the  clanging  of  his  own  great  gates  as  they 
shut  behind  him  echoed  and  re-echoed  through  the  vast 
deserted  space.  The  gorgeous  porter  and  all  the  regiment 
of  domestics  were  down  at  Westhope,  the  family  place  in 
Norfolk,  so  the  carriage-gates  were  opened  by  a middle- 
aged  female  with  her  head  tied  up  for  toothache,  and  Mrs. 
Mason,  the  housekeeper,  with  a female  retinue,  was  waiting 
to  receive  his  lordship  on  the  steps.  Always  affable  to  old 
servants  of  the  family,  whose  age,  long  service,  and  com- 
fortable comely  appearance  do  him  credit,  as  he  thinks, 
Lord  Hetherington  exchanges  a few  gracious  words  with 
Mrs.  Mason,  desires  that  Mr.  Byrne  shall  be  shown  in  to 
him  so  soon  as  he  arrives,  and  makes  his  way  across  the 
great  hall  to  the  library.  The  shutters  of  his  room  have 
?been  opened,  but  there  has  been  no  time  given  for  further 
preparations,  and  the  big  writing-table,  the  globes,  and  the 
bookcases  are  all  swathed  in  ghostly  holland  drapery.  The 
bust  of  the  ninth  earl,  Lord  Hetherington’s  father,  has 
slipped  its  head  out  of  its  covering,  and  looks  astonished 
and  as  if  it  had  been  suddenly  called  up  in  its  night- 
clothes. My  lord  looks  dismayed,  as  well  he  may,  at  the 
dreary  room,  but  finds  no  more  cheerful  outlook  from  the 
window  into  the  little  square  garden,  where  a few  melan- 
choly leaves  are  rotting  in  the  dirty  corners  into  which  they 
have  drifted,  and  where  Mrs.  Mason’s  grandson,  unconscious 


THE  TENTH  EARL. 


93 


of  observation,  is  throwing  stones  at  a cat.  My  ford  rattles 
the  loose  silver  in  his  trousers-pockets,  and  walks  np  to  the 
fireplace  and  inspects  his  tongue  in  the  looking-glass, 
whistles  thoughtfully,  sighs  heavily,  and  is  beginning  to 
think  he  shall  go  mad,  when  Mrs.  Mason  opens  the  door 
and  announces  4 4 Mr.  Byrne.” 

“How  do,  Byrne?”  says  his  lordship,  much  relieved. 
“ Glad  to  see  you — come  up  on  purpose — want  your  help!  ” 
Mr.  Byrne  returns  his  lordship’s  salutations,  and 
quietly  asks  in  what  way  he  can  be  of  use.  His  lordship 
is  rather  taken  aback  at  being  so  suddenly  brought  to 
book,  but  says  with  some  hesitation — 

“ Well,  not  exactly  in  your  own  way,  Byrne;  I don’t 
think  I shall  do  any  more  what-d’ye-call-ums,  birds,  any 
more — for  the  present,  I mean,  for  the  present.  Her  lady- 
ship thought  those  last  screens  so  good  that  it  would  be 
useless  to  try  to  improve  on  them,  and  so  she’s  given  me 
— I mean  I’ve  got — another  idea.” 

Mr.  Byrne,  with  the  faintest  dawn  of  a cynical  grin 
on  his  face,  bows  and  waits. 

“Fact  is,”  pursues  his  lordship,  “my  place  down  at 
Westhope,  full  of  most  monstrously  interesting  records 
of  our  family  from  the  time  of — oh,  the  Crusaders  and 
Guy  Fawkes  and  the  Pretender,  and  all  that  kind  of 
thing;  records,  don’t  you  know;  old  papers,  and  what 
they  call  documents,  you  know,  and  those  kind  of  things. 
Well,  I want  to  take  all  these  things  and  make  ’em  into 
a sort  of  history  of  the  family,  you  know,  to  write  it  and 
have  it  published,  don’t  they  call  it?  You  know  what 
I mean.” 

Mr.  Byrne  intimates  that  they  do  call  it  published, 
and  that  he  apprehends  his  lordship’s  meaning  completely. 

“Well,  then,  Byrne,”  his  lordship  continues,  “what 
I sent  for  you  for  is  this.  ’Tisn’t  in  your  line,  I know, 
but  I’ve  found  you  clever,  and  all  that  kind  of  thing,  and 
above  your  station.  Oh,  I mean  it,  I do  indeed,  and  I want 
you  to  find  me  some  person,  respectable  and  educated  and 
all  that,  who  will  just  go  through  these  papers,  you  know, 


*94 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


and  select  the  right  bits,  you  know,  and  write  them  down, 
you  know,  and,  in  point  of  fact,  just  do — you  know  what 
I mean.” 

Mr.  Byrne,  with  a radiant  look  which  his  face  but 
seldom  wore,  averred  that  he  not  merely  understood  what 
was  meant,  but  that  he  could  recommend  the  very  man 
whom  his  lordship  required : a young  man  of  excellent 
address,  good  education,  and  great  industry. 

“ And  hell  understand ?”  asked  Lord  Hethering- 

ton  hesitatingly,  and  with  a curious  look  at  Mr.  Byrne. 

“ Everything,”  replied  the  old  man.  “ Your  lordship’s 
book  will  be  the  most  successful  thing  you’ve  done.” 

“ Then  bring  him  to  the  Clarendon  at  twelve  the  day 
after  to-morrow.  As  he’s  to  live  in  the  house,  and  that 
kind  of  thing,  her  ladyship  must  see  him  before  he’s 
-engaged.” 

“ I suppose  I may  congratulate  you,  my  boy,”  said 
Byrne  to  Joyce  a day  or  two  afterwards,  as  they  walked 
away  from  the  Clarendon  Hotel  after  their  interview, 
6C  though  you  don’t  look  much  pleased  about  it.” 

“I  am  an  ungrateful  brute,”  said  Walter;  “I  ought 
to  have  thanked  you  the  instant  the  door  closed  ; for  it  is 
entirely  owing  to  you  and  your  kindness  that  I liave 

obtained  this  splendid  chance.  But ” 

“ But  what?”  said  the  old  man  kindly. 

“ Did  you  notice  that  woman’s  reception  of  me,  and 
the  way  she  spoke?” 

“ That  woman  ? Oh,  my  Lady  ! H’m — she’s  not  too 
polite  to  those  she  considers  her  inferiors.” 

“ Polite  ? To  me  it  was  imperious,  insolent,  degrading ! 
But  I can  put  up  with  it!”  And  he  added  softly  to 
himself,  “For  Marian’s  sake!” 


( 95  ) 


CHAPTER  X. 

AN  INTERIOR. 

Marian  Ashurst  had  begun,  soon  after  their  parting,  to 
feel  that  she  had  been  somewhat  too  sanguine  in  her 
anticipations  of  the  immediate  success  of  Walter  Joyce. 
Each  little  difficulty  she  had  had  to  encounter  in  her  own 
life  until  the  old  home  was  left  behind  had  aided  to  depress 
her,  to  force  her  to  understand  that  the  battle  of  life  was 
harder  to  fight  than  she  had  fancied  it,  and  had  brought 
to  her  mind  a shapeless  fear  that  she  had  mistaken,  over- 
valued, the  strength  and  efficacy  of  the  weapons  with 
which  she  must  fight  that  battle.  Walter’s  letters  had 
not  tended  to  lift  her  heart  up  from  its  depression.  His 
nature  was  essentially  candid;  he  had  neither  the  skill 
nor  the  inclination  to  feign,  and  he  had  kept  her  exactly 
informed.  On  his  return  home  after  his  interview  with 
Lord  and  Lady  Hetherington,  Joyce  found  a letter  await- 
ing him.  It  was  from  Marian,  written  to  her  lover  from 
Mr.  Creswell’s  house,  and  ran  as  follows : 

“ Woolgreaves,  Wednesday. 

“ My  dearest  Walter, 

“ The  project  I told  you  of,  in  my  last  letter, 
has  been  carried  out;  mamma  and  I are  settled  for  the 
present  at  Woolgreaves.  How  strange  it  seems  ! Every- 
thing has  been  done  so  suddenly  when  it  came  to  the 
point,  and  Mr.  Creswell  and  his  nieces  turned  out  so  dif- 
ferently from  what  I expected.  I did  not  look  for  their 
taking  any  notice  of  us,  except  in  the  commonplace  way 
of  people  in  their  position  to  people  in  ours.  I always 
had  a notion  that  ‘womankind’  have  but  a small  share 
in  men’s  friendships.  However,  these  people  seem  deter- 
mined to  make  me  out  in  the  wrong,  and  though  I do  not 
give  the  young  ladies  credit  for  more  than  intelligent 


96 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


docility,  making  them  understand  that  their  best  policy 
is  to  carry  out  their  uncle’s  kind  intentions — that  they 
have  more  to  gain  by  obedience  in  this  respect  than  to 
lose  by  anything  likely  to  be  alienated  from  them  in  our 
direction — I must  acknowledge  that  their  docility  is 
intelligent.  They  made  the  invitation  most  graciously, 
urged  it  most  heartily,  and  are  carrying  out  all  it  implied 
fully.  You  will  have  been  surprised  at  mamma’s  finding 
the  idea  of  being  in  any  one’s  house  endurable,  under  the 
circumstances,  but  she  really  likes  it.  Maude  and  Ger- 
trude Creswell,  who  are  the  very  opposites  of  me  in  every- 
thing, belong  to  the  4 sweet-girl  ’ species,  and  mamma  has 
found  out  that  she  likes  sweet  girls.  Poor  mamma,  she 
never  had  the  chance  of  making  the  discovery  before  ! I 
do  believe  it  never  occurred  to  her  that  her  own  daughter 
was  not  a 4 sweet  girl,’  until  she  made  the  conquest  of  the 
hearts  of  these  specimens.  The  truth  is,  also,  that  mamma 
feels,  she  must  feel,  every  one  must  feel  the  material 
comfort  of  living  as  we  are  living  here,  in  comparison 
with  the  makeshift  wretchedness  of  the  lodging  into 
which  we  shall  have  to  go,  when  our  visit  here  comes 
to  a conclusion,  and  still  more,  as  a thoroughly  known  and 
felt  standard  of  comparison,  with  the  intense  and  oppres- 
sive sadness,  and  the  perpetual  necessity  for  watchfulness 
in  the  least  expense,  which  have  characterised  our  dear 
old  house  since  our  sad  loss.  She  is  not  herself  aware  of 
the  good  which  it  has  done  her  to  come  here,  she  does  not 
perceive  the  change  it  has  wrought  in  her,  and  it  is  well 
she  should  not,  for  I really  think  the  simple,  devoted, 
grieving  soul  would  be  hurt  and  angry  with  herself  at  the 
idea  that  anything  should  make  any  difference  to  her,  that 
she  should  be  4 roused.’  How  truly  my  dear  father  under- 
stood, how  highly  he  prized  her  exquisite  sensitiveness 
of  feeling ; he  was  just  the  man  to  hold  it  infinitely  above 
all  the  strong-mindedness  in  the  world ! I am  stronger 
minded,  happily — I wonder  if  you  like  to  know  that  I am, 
or  whether  you,  too,  prefer  the  weaker,  the  more  womanly 
type,  as  people  say,  forgetting  that  most  of  the  endurance, 


AN  INTERIOR. 


97 


and  a good  deal  of  the  work,  in  this  world,  is  our  ‘womanly’ 
inheritance,  and  that  some  of  us,  at  least,  do  it  with  dis- 
credit. You  don’t  want  moralising,  or  philosophising, 
from  me,  though,  dearest  Walter,  do  you?  You  complain 
of  my  matter-of-fact  letters  as  it  is.  I must  not  yield  to 
my  had  habit  of  talking  to  myself,  rather  than  to  you  on 
paper. 

“ Well,  then,  we  came  to  Woolgreaves,  and  found  the 
heartiest  of  welcomes,  and  everything  prepared  for  our 
comfort.  As  I don’t  think  you  know  anything  more  of 
the  place  than  could  be  learned  from  our  summer-evening 
strolls  about  the  grounds,  when  we  always  took  such  good 
care  to  keep  well  out  of  sight  of  the  windows,  I shall 
describe  the  house.  You  will  like  to  know  where  and  how 
I live,  and  to  see  in  your  fancy  my  surroundings.  How  glad 
I shall  be  when  you,  too,  can  send  me  a sketch  of  anything 
you  can  call  4 home  ! ’ Of  course,  I don’t  mean  that  to 
apply  to  myself  here ; I never  let  any  feeling  of  enjoyment 
really  take  possession  of  me  because  of  its  transitoriness ; 
you  know  exactly  in  what  sense  I mean  it,  a certain  feeling 
of  comfort  and  quiet,  of  having  to-morrow  what  you  have 
had  to-day,  of  seeing  the  same  people  and  the  same  things 
around,  which  makes  up  the  idea  of  home,  though  it  must 
all  vanish  soon.  I wonder  if  men  get  used  to  alterations 
in  their  modes  of  life  so  soon  as  women  do  ? I fancy  not. 
I know  there  is  mamma,  and  I am  sure  a more  easily 
pleased,  less  consciously  selfish  human  being  never  existed 
(if  her  share  in  the  comforts  of  home  was  disproportionate, 
it  was  my  dear  father’s  doing,  not  of  her  claiming),  and 
yet  she  has  been  a week  here,  and  all  the  luxury  she  lives 
in  seems  as  natural  to  her,  as  indispensable  as  the  easy- 
chair,  the  especially  good  tea,  the  daily  glass  of  wine,  the 
daintiest  food  which  were  allotted  to  her  at  home.  I saw 
the  girls  exchange  a look  this  morning  when  she  said,  4 1 
hope  it  won’t  rain,  I shall  miss  my  afternoon  drive  so 
much ! ’ I wonder  what  the  look  meant  ? Perhaps  it 
meant,  4 Listen  to  that  upstart ! She  never  had  a carriage 
of  her  own  in  her  life,  and  because  she  has  the  use  of  ours 


98 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


for  a few  days,  she  talks  as  if  it  were  a necessary  of  life.’ 
Perhaps — and  I think  they  may  he  sufficiently  genuinely 
sweet  girls  to  make  it  possible — the  look  may  have  meant 
that  they  were  glad  to  think  they  had  it  in  their  power  to 
give  her  anything  she  enjoyed  so  much.  I like  it  very 
much,  too ; there  is  more  pleasure  in  driving  about 
leisurely  in  a carriage  which  you  have  not  to  pay  for  than 
I imagined ; but  I should  be  sorry  the  girls  knew  I cared 
very  much  about  it.  I have  not  very  much  respect  for 
their  intellects,  and  silly  heads  are  apt  to  take  airs  at  the 
mere  idea  of  being  in  a position  to  patronise.  Decidedly 
the  best  room  in  the  house  is  mamma’s,  and  she  likes  it  so 
much.  I often  see  the  thought  in  her  face,  ‘ If  we  could 
have  given  him  all  these  comforts,  we  might  have  had  him 
with  us  now.’  And  so  we  might,  Walter,  so  we  might. 
Just  think  of  the  great  age  some  of  the  very  rich  and 
grand  folks  live  to ; I am  sure  I have  seen  it  in  the  papers 
hundreds  of  times,  seventy,  eighty,  ninety  sometimes,  just 
because  they  are  rich ; rank  has  nothing  to  do  with  it  be- 
yond implying  wealth,  and  if  my  father  had  been  even  a 
moderately  rich  man,  if  he  had  been  anything  but  a poor 
man,  he  would  have  been  alive  to-day.  We  must  try  to 
be  rich,  my  dearest  Walter,  and  if  that  is  impossible  (and  I 
fear  it,  I fear  it  much  since  I have  been  here,  and  Mr. 
Creswell  has  told  me  a good  deal  about  how  he  made  his 
money,  and  from  all  he  says  it  seems  indispensable  to  have 
some  to  begin  with,  there  is  truth  in  the  saying  that  money 
maizes  money') — if  that  is  impossible,  at  least  we  must  not 
think  of  marrying  while  we  are  poor.  I don’t  think  any- 
thing can  compensate  to  one’s  self  for  being  poor,  and  I am 
quite  sure  nothing  can  compensate  for  seeing  any  one  whom 
one  loves  exposed  to  the  privations  and  the  humiliations 
of  poverty.  I have  thought  so  much  of  this,  dearest 
Walter,  I have  been  so  doubtful  whether  you  think  of  it 
seriously  enough.  It  seems  absurd  for  a woman  to  say  to 
a man  that  she  ponders  the  exigencies  of  life  more  wisely, 
and  sees  its  truths  more  fully  than  he  does ; but  I some- 
times think  women  do  so,  and  in  our  case  I think  I 


AN  INTERIOR. 


99 


estimate  the  trial  and  the  struggle  there  is  before  ns  more 
according  to  their  real  weight  and  severity  than  you  do, 
Walter,  for  you  think  of  me  only,  whereas  I think  of  you 
more  than  of  myself,  and  as  one  with  myself.  I have 
learned,  since  I came  here,  that  to  understand  what 
poverty  really  means  one  must  see  the  details  of  wealth. 
We  have  only  a general  idea  of  a fine  house  and  grounds, 
a luxurious  table  and  a lot  of  servants.  The  general  idea 
seems  very  grand  and  attractive,  but  when  one  sees  it  all 
in  working  order,  when  one  can  find  out  the  cost  of  each 
department,  the  price  of  every  article,  the  scale  on  which 
it  is  all  kept  up,  not  for  show,  but  for  every-day  use , 
then  the  real  meaning  of  wealth,  the  awful  difficulty  of 
attaining  it,  realise  themselves  to  one’s  mind.  The  Cres- 
well  girls  know  nothing  about  the  mechanism  of  their 
splendid  home,  not  much  about  even  their  personal  ex- 
penses. ‘ Uncle  gives  us  a hundred  and  fifty  pounds  a 
year,  and  tells  us  we  may  send  him  in  any  reasonable 
number  of  bills  besides,’  Maude  told  me.  And  it  is  quite 
true.  They  keep  no  accounts.  I checked  her  maid’s  book 
for  Gertrude,  warning  her  not  to  let  her  servant  see  her 
ignorance,  and  she  says  she  does  not  think  she  ever  had 
some  of  the  things  put  down.  Just  think  of , that ! No  dye- 
ing old  dresses  black  for  mourning  for  them,  and  turning 
rnsty  crape!  Not  that  that  sort  of  thing  signifies — the  cal- 
culation is  on  too  large  a scale  for  such  small  items — they 
only  illustrate  the  whole  story  of  poverty.  The  house- 
keeper and  I are  quite  friendly.  She  has  a notion  that 
ladies  ought  to  understand  economy,  and  she  is  very  civil. 
She  has  explained  everything  to  me,  and  I find  the  sums 
which  pass  through  her  hands  alone  would  be  a fortune  to 
us.  There  are  twenty  servants  in  the  house  and  stables, 
and  their  ‘ hall  ’ is  a sight ! When  I think  of  the  shabby 
dining-room  in  which  my  dear  father  used  to  receive  his 
friends — great  people,  too,  sometimes,  but  not  latterly — I 
do  feel  that  human  life  is  a very  unfair  thing. 

“ The  great  wide  hall,  floored  with  marble,  and  orna- 
mented with  pictures,  and  lamps  on  pedestals,  and  stags’- 


100 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


heads,  and  all  the  things  one  sees  in  pictures  of  halls,  is  in 
the  centre  of  the  house,  and  has  a dark  carved-oak  gallery 
all  round  it,  on  which  numerous  rooms  open ; hut  on  the 
ground-floor  there  is  a grand  dining-room,  and  a smaller 
room  where  we  breakfast,  a billiard-room,  a splendid 
library  (all  my  father’s  books  are  in  it  now,  and  look 
nothing  in  the  crowd),  an  ante-room  where  people  wait 
who  come  on  business  to  Mr.  Creswell  (all  his  business 
seems  to  consist  in  disposing  surplus  money  to  advantage), 
and  at  the  back  of  all,  opening  on  the  most  beautiful 
flower-garden  you  can  conceive,  an  immense  conservatory. 
This  is  a great  pleasure  to  mamma ; there  are  no  painful 
associations  with  such  flowers  for  her  ; my  father  never 
gave  her  such  bouquets  as  Gertrude  brings  to  the  break- 
fast-table every  morning  and  presents  to  her  with  a kiss, 
which  her  uncle  seems  to  think  particularly  gracious  and 
kind,  for  he  always  smiles  at  her. 

“ Indeed,  he  smiles  a good  deal  at  every  one,  for  he  is  a 
very  good-natured,  amiable,  and  kindly  man,  and  seems  to 
think  little  of  his  wealth.  I am  sure  he  is  dreadfully 
imposed  upon — indeed,  I have  found  out  many  instances 
of  it.  How  happy  he  could  make  us  if  he  would  ! I dare 
say  he  would  not  miss  the  money  which  would  make  us 
comfortable.  But  I must  not  think  of  such  a thing.  'No 
one  could  afford  to  give  so  much  as  it  would  be  wise  to 
marry  on,  and  we  never  should  be  happy  if  we  were  not 
wise.  I don’t  think  Mr.  Creswell  has  a trouble  in  the 
world,  except  his  son  Tom,  and  I am  not  sure  that  he  is 
a trouble  to  him — for  he  doesn’t  talk  much  about  himself 
— but  I am  quite  sure  he  ought  to  be.  The  boy  is  as 
graceless,  selfish,  heartless  a cub,  I think,  as  ever  lived. 
I remember  your  thinking  him  very  troublesome  and  dis- 
obedient in  school,  and  he  certainly  is  not  better  at  home, 
where  he  has  many  opportunities  of  gratifying  his  evil 
propensities  not  afforded  him  by  school.  He  is  very  much 
afraid  of  me,  short  a time  as  I have  been  here,  that  is  quite 
evident ; and  I am  inclined  to  think  one  reason  why  Mr. 
Creswell  likes  my  being  here  so  much  is  the  influence 


AN  INTERIOR. 


101 


I exercise  over  Tom.  Very  likely  he  does  not  acknow- 
ledge that  to  himself  as  a reason,  perhaps  he  does  not  even 
know  it ; hut  I can  discern  it,  and  also  that  it  is  a great 
relief  to  the  girls.  They  are  very  kind  to  Tom,  who 
worries  their  lives  out,  I am  sure,  when  they  are  alone ; 
hut  4 schoolmaster’s  daughter’ was  always  an  awful  per- 
sonage in  the  old  days,  and  makes  herself  felt  now  very 
satisfactorily,  though  silently.  I fancy  Tom  will  turn  out 
to  he  the  crook  in  his  father’s  lot  when  he  grows  up.  He 
is  an  unmannerly,  common  creature,  not  to  he  civilised  hy 
all  the  comfort  and  luxury  of  home,  or  softened  hy  all  the 
gentleness  and  indulgence  of  his  father.  He  is  doing 
nothing  just  now ; he  did  not  choose  to  remain  with  papa’s 
successor,  and  is  running  wild  until  he  can  he  placed  with 
a private  tutor — some  clergyman  who  takes  only  two  or 
three  pupils.  Meantime,  the  coachman  and  the  groom 
are  his  favourite  associates,  and  the  stable  his  resort  of 
predilection. 

“ Do  you  remember  the  beech-copse  just  beyond  Hill- 
side Eoad?  The  windows  of  my  room  look  out  in  that 
direction,  far  away,  beyond  the  Woolgreaves  grounds ; 
I can  see  the  tops  of  the  trees,  and  the  winding  road 
beyond  them.  I go  up  to  my  room  every  evening,  to  see 
the  sun  set  behind  the  hill  there,  and  to  think  of  the  many 
times  we  walked  there  and  talked  of  what  was  to  be. 
Will  it  ever  be,  W alter?  Were  we  not  foolish  boy  and 
girl — foolish  paupers  ? Ay,  the  word,  hard,  ugly,  but  true . 
When  I look  round  this  room  I feel  it,  oh,  so  true  ! Mamma 
and  I have  a pretty  sitting-room,  and  a bedroom  each  on 
opposite  sides  of  it.  Such  rooms ! the  very  simplicity 
and  exquisite  freshness  of  their  furniture  and  appoint- 
ments are  more  significant  of  wealth,  of  the  ease  of  house- 
hold arrangement,  and  the  perfection  of  household  service, 
than  any  amount  of  rich  upholstery.  And  then  the 
drawing-rooms,  and  the  girls’  rooms,  and  the  music-room, 
and  the  endless  spare  rooms — which,  by-the-by,  are  rarely 
occupied ; for  so  rich  a man,  and  one  with  such  a house, 
Mr.  Creswell  seems  to  me  to  have  singularly  little  society. 


102 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


No  one  but  the  clergyman  and  his  wife  has  been  since  we 
came.  I thought  it  might  be  out  of  delicate  consideration 
for  us  that  Mr.  Creswell  might  have  signified  a wish  for 
especial  privacy,  but  I find  that  is  not  the  case.  He  said 
to  me  to-day  that  he  feared  we  found  Wool  greaves  dull. 
I do  not.  I have  too  much  to  think  of  to  be  affected  by 
anything  of  that  kind ; and  as  my  thoughts  are  rarely  of  a 
cheerful  order,  I should  not  ingratiate  myself  by  social 
agreeability.  Our  life  is  quietly  luxurious.  I adhere  to  my 
old  habits  of  early  rising ; but  I am  the  only  person  in  the 
house  who  enjoys  the  beauty  of  the  gardens  and  grounds 
in  the  sweet  morning.  We  breakfast  at  ten,  and  mamma 
and  the  girls  go  out  into  the  lawn  or  into  the  garden,  and 
they  chat  to  her  and  amuse  her  until  luncheon.  I usually 
pass  the  morning  in  the  library,  reading  and  writing,  or 
talking  with  Mr.  Creswell.  It  is  very  amusing  and 
interesting  to  me  to  hear  all  about  his  career,  how  he  made 
so  much  money,  and  how  he  administers  it.  I begin  to 
understand  it  very  well  now.  I don’t  think  I should  make 
a bad  woman  of  business  by  any  means,  and  I am  sure 
everything  of  the  kind  would  have  a great  interest  for  me, 
even  apart  from  my  desire  lor  money,  and  my  conviction 
that  neither  happiness  nor  repose  is  to  be  had  in  this 
world  without  it.  The  old  gentleman  seems  surprised  to 
find  me  interested  and  intelligent  about  what  he  calls  such 
dry  detail ; but,  just  as  books  and  pictures  are  interesting, 
though  one  may  never  hope  to  possess  them,  so  money, 
though  it  does  not  belong  to  myself,  and  never  can, 
interests  me.  Oh,  my  dearest  Walter,  if  we  had  but  a 
little,  just  a few  hundreds  of  pounds,  and  Mr.  Creswell 
could  teach  you  how  to  employ  it  with  advantage  in 
some  commercial  undertaking ! He  began  with  little 
more  than  one  thousand  pounds,  and  now ! But  I might 
as  well  wish  you  had  been  born  an  archbishop.  In  the 
afternoon,  there  is  our  drive.  What  handsome  houses  wo 
see,  what  fine  places  we  pass  by ! How  often  I occupy 
myself  with  thinking  what  I should  do  if  I only  had 
them,  and  the  money  they  represent ! And  how  hard  the 


AN  INTERIOR. 


103 


sight  of  them  makes  the  past  appear ! How  little,  falling 
to  our  share,  would  make  the  future  smiling  and  happy ! 

“ The  girls  are  not  interesting  companions  to  Mr. 
Creswell.  He  is  fond  of  them,  and  very  kind  to  them — in 
fact,  lavishly  generous — they  never  have  an  un gratified 
wish ; hut  how  can  a man,  whose  whole  life  has  been 
devoted  to  business,  feel  much  companionship  with  young 
girls  like  them,  who  do  not  know  what  it  means  ? Of 
course,  they  think  and  talk  about  their  dead  parents — at 
least,  I suppose  so — and  their  past  lives,  and  neither 
subject  has  any  charms  for  their  uncle.  They  read — 
especially  Maude — and,  strange  to  say,  they  read  solid 
books  as  well  as  novels  ; they  excel  in  fancy-work,  which 
I detest,  probably  because  I can’t  do  it,  and  could  not 
afford  to  buy  the  materials  if  I understood  the  art ; and 
they  both  play  and  sing.  I have  heard  very  little  good 
music,  and  I am  not  a judge,  except  of  what  is  pleasing 
to  myself ; but  I think  I am  correct  in  rating  Maude’s 
musical  abilities  very  highly.  Her  voice  thrills  me 
almost  to  pain,  and  to  see  my  mother’s  quiet  tears  when 
Maude  plays  to  her  in  the  dim  evening  is  to  feel  that  the 
power  of  producing  such  salutary  healing  emotion  is 
priceless  indeed.  What  a pity  it  is  I am  not  a good 
musician ! Loving  music  as  you  love  it,  dearest  Walter, 
it  will  be  a privation  to  you — if  ever  that  time  we  talked 
of  comes,  when  we  should  have  a decent  home  to  share — 
that  I shall  not  be  able  to  make  sweet  music  for  you. 
They  are  not  fond  of  me,  but  I did  not  think  they  would 
be,  and  I am  not  disappointed.  I like  them,  but  they  are 
too  young,  too  happy,  and  too  rich  for  me  not  to  envy  them 
a little,  and  though  love  and  jealousy  may  coexist,  love 
and  envy  cannot. 

“ In  all  this  long  letter,  my  own  Walter,  I have  said 
nothing  of  you . You  understand  why.  I dare  not.  I 
dare  not  give  utterance  to  the  discouragement  which  your 
last  vague  letter  caused  me,  lest  such  discouragement 
should  infect  you,  and  by  lowering  your  spirits  weaken 
your  efforts.  Under  these  circumstances,  and  until  I hear 


104 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


from  yon  more  decisively,  I will  say  nothing,  hut  strive 
and  hope ! On  my  side,  there  is  little  striving  possible, 
and  I dare  not  tel!  you  how  little  hope. 

“ Your  own 

“ Marian.” 

To  the  strong,  loving,  and  loyal  heart  of  Walter,  a 
letter  from  Marian  was  a sacred  treasure,  a full,  intense, 
solemn  delight.  She  had  thought  the  thoughts,  written 
the  words,  touched  the  paper.  When  disappointment, 
distress,  depression,  and  uncertainty  accumulated  upon 
him  most  ruthlessly,  and  bore  him  most  heavily  to 
the  ground,  he  shook  them  from  him  at  the  bidding  of 
a letter  from  her,  and  rose  more  than  ever  determined 
not  to  be  beaten  in  the  struggle  which  was  to  bring  him 
such  a reward.  The  calmness,  the  seeming  coldness  even 
of  her  letters  did  not  annoy  or  disappoint  him  ; theirs  was 
the  perfect  love  that  did  not  need  protestation- — that  was 
as  well  and  as  ill,  as  fully  and  as  imperfectly,  expressed  by 
the  simplest  affirmation  as  by  a score  of  endearing  phrases. 
No  letter  of  Marian’s  had  ever  failed  to  delight,  to 
strengthen,  to  encourage  Walter  Joyce,  until  this  one 
reached  him. 

He  opened  the  envelope  with  an  eager  touch,  his  dark 
cheek  flushed,  and  a tender  smile  shone  in  his  eyes ; he 
murmured  a word  of  love  as  the  closely  written  sheets  met 
his  impatient  gaze. 

“ A long  letter  to-day,  Marian,  my  darling.  Did  you 
guess  how  sadly  I wanted  it  ? ” 

But  as  Walter  read  the  letter  his  countenance  changed. 
He  turned  back,  and  read  some  portions  twice  over,  then 
went  on,  and  when  he  concluded  it  began  again.  But  not 
with  the  iteration  of  a lover  refreshing  his  first  feeling  of 
delight,  seeking  pet  passages  to  dwell  on  afresh.  There 
was  no  such  pleasurable  impulse  in  the  moody  re-reading 
of  his  letter.  Walter  frowned  more  than  once  while  he 
read  it,  and  struck  the  hand  in  which  he  held  it  mono- 
tonously against  his  knee  -when  he  had  acquired  the  full 
unmistakable  meaning  of  it. 


THE  LOUT. 


105 


His  face  had  been  sad  and  anxious  when  the  letter 
reached  him — he  had  reason  for  sadness  and  anxiety — but 
when  he  had  read  it  for  the  last  time,  and  thrust  it  into 
his  breast-pocket,  his  face  was  more  than  sad  and  anxious 
— it  was  haggard,  gloomy,  and  angry. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE  LOUT. 

Mr.  Creswell’s  only  son,  who  was  named  after  Mr.  Cres- 
well’s  only  brother,  by  no  means  resembled  his  prototype 
either  in  appearance,  manners,  or  disposition.  For  where- 
as Tom  Creswell  the  elder  had  been  a long,  lean,  washed- 
out-looking  person,  with  long,  wiry  black  hair,  sallow 
complexion,  hollow  cheeks,  and  a faint  dawn  of  a mous- 
tache (in  his  youth  he  had  turned  down  his  collars  and 
modelled  himself  generally  on  Lord  Byron,  and  through- 
out his  life  he  was  declared  by  his  wife  to  be  most  aristo- 
cratic and  romantic-looking),  Tom  Creswell  the  younger 
had  a small,  round,  bullet  head,  with  closely  cropped 
sandy  hair,  eyes  deeply  sunken  and  but  little  visible,  snub 
nose,  wide  mouth,  and  dimpled  chin.  Tom  Creswell  the 
elder  rose  at  noon,  and  lay  upon  the  sofa  all  day,  com- 
posing verses,  reading  novels,  or  playing  the  flute.  Tom 
Creswell  the  younger  was  up  at  five  every  morning,  round 
through  the  stables,  saw  the  horses  properly  fed,  peered 
into  every  corn-bin  (“Darng,  now  whey  do  thot?  Darnged 
if  un  doesn’t  count  carn-grains,  I think,”  was  the  groom’s 
muttered  exclamation  on  this  proceeding),  ran  his  hand 
over  the  animals,  and  declared  that  they  “ didn’t  carry  as 
much  flesh  as  they  might,”  with  a look  at  the  helpers 
which  obviously  meant  that  they  starved  the  cattle  and 
sold  the  oats.  Then  Tom  the  younger  would  go  to  the 
garden,  where  his  greatest  delight  lay  in  counting  the 


106 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


peaches  and  nectarines,  and  plums  and  apricots,  nestling 
coyly  against  the  old  red  south  wall,  in  taking  stock  of  the 
cucumbers  and  melons  under  their  frames,  and  in  ticking 
off  the  number  of  the  bunches  of  grapes  slowly  ripening  in 
the  sickly  heat  of  the  vinery,  while  the  Scotch  head-gar- 
dener, a man  whose  natural  hot-headedness  was  barely  kept 
within  bounds  by  the  strictness  of  his  religious  opinions, 
would  stand  by  looking  on,  outwardly  placid,  but  inwardly 
burning  to  deliver  himself  of  his  sentiments  in  the  Gaelic 
language.  Tom  Creswrell  the  elder  was  always  languid 
and  ailing ; as  a boy  he  had  worn  a comforter,  and  a hare- 
skin  on  his  chest,  had  taken  cough-lozenges  and  jujubes, 
had  been  laughed  at  and  called  “ Molly”  and  “Miss”  by 
his  schoolfellows,  and  had  sighed  and  simpered  away  his 
existence.  Tom  Ores  well  the  younger  was  strong  as  a 
Shetland  pony,  and  hard  as  a tennis-ball,  full  of  exuberant 
vitality  which,  not  finding  sufficient  vent  in  ordinary 
schoolboy  fun,  in  cricket,  or  hockey,  or  football,  let  itself 
off  in  cruelty,  in  teasing  and  stoning  animals,  in  bullying 
smaller  boys.  Tom  Creswell  the  elder  was  weak,  selfish, 
idle,  and  conceited,  but — you  could  not  help  allowing  it — 
he  was  a gentleman.  Tom  Creswell  the  younger — you 
could  not  possibly  deny  it — was  a blatant  cad. 

Not  the  least  doubt  of  it.  Everybody  knew'  if,  and 
most  people  owned  it.  Down  in  the  village  it  was  common 
talk.  Mr.  Creswell  was  wonderfully  respected  in  Hel- 
mingham  town,  though  the  old  people  minded  the  day 
when  he  was  thought  little  of.  Helmingham  is  strictly 
Conservative,  and  when  Mr.  Creswell  first  settled  himself 
at  Woolgreaves,  and  commenced  his  restoration  of  the 
house,  and  was  known  to  be  spending  large  sums  on  the 
estate,  and  was  seen  to  have  horses  and  equipages  very  far 
outshining  those  of  Sir  Thomas  Churchill  of  the  Park, 
• who  was  lord  of  the  manor,  and  a county  magnate  of  the 
very  first  order,  the  village  folk  could  not  understand  a 
man  of  no  particular  birth  or  breeding,  and  whose  money, 
it  was  well  known,  had  been  made  in  trade — which,  to  the 
Helmingham  limited  comprehension,  meant  across  a counter 


THE  LOUT. 


107 


in  a shop,  “just  like  Tom  Boucher,  the  draper” — attaining 
such  a position.  They  did  not  like  the  idea  of  being 
patronised  by  one  whom  they  considered  to  be  of  their 
own  order ; and  the  foolish  face  which  had  been  trans- 
mitted through  ten  generations,  and  the  stupid  head  which 
had  never  had  a wise  idea  or  a kindly  thought  in  it, 
received  the  homage  which  was  denied  to  the  clever  man 
who  had  been  the  founder  of  his  own  fortune,  and  who  was 
the  best  landlord  and  the  kindest  neighbour  in  the  country 
round.  But  this  prejudice  soon  wore  away.  The  practical 
good  sense  which  had  gained  for  Mr.  Creswell  his  position 
soon  made  itself  felt  among  the  Helmingham  folk,  and  the 
“ canny  ” ones  soon  grew  as  loud  in  his  praise  as  they  had 
been  in  his  disparagement.  Even  Jack  Forman,  the  ne’er- 
do-weel  of  the  village,  who  was  always  sunning  his  fat 
form  at  alehouse-doors,  and  who  had  but  few  good  words 
for  any  one,  save  for  the  most  recent  “ stander  ” of  beer, 
had  been  heard  to  declare  outside  that  Mr.  Creswell  was 
the  “ raight  soort,”  a phrase  which,  in  Jack’s  limited 
vocabulary,  stood  for  something  highly  complimentary. 
The  young  ladies,  too,  were  exceedingly  popular.  They 
were  pretty,  of  a downright  English  prettiness,  expressed 
in  hair  and  eyes  and  complexion,  a prettiness  commending 
itself  at  once  to  the  uneducated  English  rustid  taste,  which 
is  apt  to  find  classical  features  “peaky,”  and  romantic 
expression  “ fal-lal.”  They  were  girls  about  whom  there 
was  “ no  nonsense  ” — cheerful,  bright,  and  homely.  The 
feelings  which  congealed  into  cold  politeness  under  the 
influence  of  Marian  Ashurst’s  supposed  “superiority5’ 
overflowed  with  womanly  tenderness  when  their  possessor 
was  watching  Widow  Hal  ton  through  the  fever,  or  tending 
little  Madge  Mason’s  crippled  limb.  The  bright  faces  of 
“the  young  ladies”  were  known  for  miles  through  the 
country  round,  and  whenever  sickness  or  distress  crossed 
the  threshold  they  were  speedily  followed  by  these  minis- 
tering angels.  If  human  prayers  for  others’  welfare  avail 
on  high,  Mr.  Creswell  and  his  nieces  had  them  in  scores. 

But  the  Helmingham  folk  did  not  pray  much  for 


108 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


young  Tom ; on  the  contrary,  their  aspirations  towards 
him  were,  it  is  to  be  feared,  of  a malignant  kind.  The 
warfare  which  alwaj^s  existed  between  the  village  folk 
and  the  Grammar-School  boys  was  carried  on  without 
rancour.  The  farmers  whose  orchards  were  robbed,  whose 
growing  wheat  was  trampled  down,  whose  ducks  were 
dog-hunted,  contented  themselves  with  putting  in  an 
occasional  appearance  with  a cart-whip,  fully  knowing,  at 
the  same  time,  the  impossibility  of  catching  their  young 
and  active  tormentors,  and  with  “ darn ging  ” the  rising 
generation  in  general,  and  the  youth  then  profiting  by  Sir 
Ranulph  Clinton’s  generosity  in  particular.  The  village 
tradesmen  whose  windows  were  broken,  when  they  dis- 
covered who  were  the  offenders,  laid  on  an  additional  item 
to  their  parents’  account ; when  they  could  not  bring  the 
crime  home  to  any  boy  in  particular,  laid  on  an  additional 
item  to  Mr.  Ashurst’s  account,  and  thus  consoled  themselves. 
Moreover,  there  was  a general  feeling  that  somehow,  in  a 
way  that  the}^  could  not  and  never  attempted  to  explain, 
the  school,  since  Mr.  Ashurst  had  had  it  in  hand,  had  been 
a credit  to  the  place,  and  the  canny  folk,  in  their  canniness, 
liked  something  which  brought  them  credit  and  cost  them 
nothing,  and  had  friendly  feelings  to  the  masters  and  the 
boys. 

But  not  to  young  Tom  Creswell.  They  hated  him, 
and  they  said  so  roundly.  What  was  youthful  merriment 
and  mischief  in  other  boys  was,  they  averred,  “bedevil- 
ment ” in  young  Tom.  Standing  at  their  doors  on  fine 
summer  evenings,  the  village  folk  would  pause  in  their 
gossip  to  look  after  him  as  he  cantered  by  on  his  chestnut 
pony — an  animal  which  Banks,  the  farrier,  declared  to  be 
as  vicious  and  as  cross-grained  as  its  master.  Eyes  were 
averted  as  he  passed,  and  no  hat  was  raised  in  salutation ; 
but  that  mattered  little  to  the  rider.  He  noticed  it,  of 
course,  as  he  noticed  everything  in  his  hang-dog  manner, 
with  furtive  glances  under  his  eyebrows ; and  he  thought 
that  when  he  came  into  his  kingdom — he  often  speculated 
upon  that  time — he  would  make  these  dogs  pay  for  their 


THE  LOUT. 


109 


insolence.  Jack  Forman  was  never  drunk;  no  given 
amount  of  beer — and  it  was  always  given  in  Jack’s  case, 
as  he  never  paid  for  it — could  make  him  wholly  intoxi- 
cated ; but  when  he  was  in  that  state  which  he  explained 
himself  as  having  “an  extry  pint  in  him,”  Jack  would 
stand  up,  holding  on  by  the  horse-trough  in  front  of  the 
Seven  Stars,  and  shake  his  disengaged  fist  at  young  Tom 
riding  past,  and  express  his  wish  to  wring  young  Tom’s 
neck.  Mr.  Benthall,  who  had  succeeded  Mr.  Ashurst  as 
head-master  of  the  school,  was  soon  on  excellent  terms 
with  Mr.  Creswell,  and  thus  had  an  opportunity  of  getting 
an  insight  into  young  Tom’s  character — an  opportunity 
which  rendered  him  profoundly  thankful  that  that  interest- 
ing youth  was  no  longer  numbered  among  his  scholars, 
and  caused  him  much  wonderment  as  to  how  Trollope, 
who  was  the  curate  of  a neighbouring  parish,  who  had 
been  chosen  for  young  Tom’s  private  tutor,  could  possibly 
get  on  with  his  pupil.  Mr.  Trollope,  a mild,  gentlemanly, 
retiring  young  man,  with  a bashful  manner  and  a weak 
voice,  found  himself  utterly  unable  to  cope  with  the  lout, 
who  mocked  at  him  before  his  face  and  mimicked  him 
behind  his  back,  and  refused  to  be  taught  or  guided  by 
him  in  any  way.  So  Mr.  Trollope,  after  speaking  to  the 
lout’s  father,  and  finding  but  little  good  resulting  there- 
from, contented  himself  with  setting  exercises  which  wero 
never  done,  and  marking  out  lessons  which  were  never 
learned,  and  bearing  a vast  amount  of  contumely  and  un- 
pleasantness for  the  sake  of  a salary  which  was  very  regu- 
larly paid. 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  his  son’s  strongly  marked 
characteristics  passed  unobserved  by  Mr.  Creswell,  or  that 
they  failed  to  cause  him  an  immensity  of  pain.  The  man’s 
life  had  been  so  hard  and  earnest,  so  engrossing  and  so 
laborious,  that  he  had  only  allowed  himself  two  subjects 
for  distraction,  occasionally  indulged  in ; one,  regret  for 
his  wife  ; the  other,  hope  in  his  son.  As  time  passed  away 
and  he  grew  older,  the  first  lessened  and  the  other  grew. 
His  Jenny  had  been  an  angel  on  earth,  he  thought,  and 


110 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


was  now  an  angel  in  heaven,  and  the  period  was  nearing, 
rapidly  nearing,  when,  as  he  himself  humbly  hoped,  he 
might  be  permitted  to  join  her.  Then  his  son  would  take 
his  place,  with  no  ladder  to  climb,  no  weary  heart-burning 
and  hard  slaving  to  go  through,  but  with  the  position 
achieved,  the  ball  at  his  foot.  In  Mr.  Creswell’s  own 
experience  he  had  seen  a score  of  men,  whose  fathers  had 
been  inferior  to  him  in  natural  talent  and  business 
capacity,  and  in  luck,  which  was  not  the  least  part  of  the 
affair,  holding  their  own  with  the  landed  gentry  whose 
ancestry  had  been  “ county  people  ” for  ages  past,  and 
playing  at  squires  with  as  much  grace  and  tact  as  if  cotton- 
twist  and  coal-dust  were  things  of  which  they  might  have 
heard,  indeed,  but  with  which  they  had  never  been  brought 
into  contact.  It  had  been  the  dream  of  the  old  man’s  life 
that  his  son  should  be  one  of  these.  The  first  idea  of  the 
purchase  of  Woolgreaves,  the  lavish  splendour  with  which 
the  place  had  been  rehabilitated  and  with  which  it  was 
kept  up,  the  still  persistent  holding  on  to  business  and 
superintending,  though  with  but  rare  intervals,  his  own 
affairs,  all  sprang  from  this  hope.  The  old  gentleman’s 
tastes  were  simple  in  the  extreme.  He  hated  grandeur, 
disliked  society,  had  had  far  more  than  enough  of  business 
worries.  There  was  plenty,  more  than  plenty,  for  him 
and  his  nieces  to  live  on  in  affluence,  but  it  had  been  the 
dearest  wish  of  his  heart  to  leave  his  son  a man  of  mark, 
and  do  it  he  would. 

Did  he  really  think  so?  Not  in  his  inmost  heart. 
The  keen  eyes  which  had  been  accustomed  for  so  long 
to  read  human  nature  like  a book  refused  to  be  hoodwinked; 
the  keen  sense  used  to  sift  and  balance  human  motives 
refused  to  be  paltered  with ; the  logical  powers  which 
deduced  effect  from  cause  refused  to  be  stifled  or  led  astray. 
To  no  human  being  were  Tom  Creswell’s  moral  deficiencies 
and  shortcomings  more  patent  than  to  his  father  ; it  is 
needless  to  say  that  to  none  were  they  the  subject  of  such 
bitter  anguish.  Mr.  Ores  well  knew  that  his  son  was  a 
failure,  and  worse  than  a failure.  If  he  had  been  merely 


THE  LOUT. 


Ill 


stupid  there  would  have  been  not  much  to  grieve  over. 
The  lad  would  have  been  a disappointment — as  how  many 
lads  are  disappointments  to  fond  parents  ! — and  that  was 
all.  Hundreds,  thousands  of  stupid  young  men  filled  their 
position  in  society  with  average  success.  Their  money 
supported  them,  and  they  pulled  through.  He  had  hoped 
for  something  better  than  this  for  his  son,  but  in  the 
bitterness  of  his  grief  he  allowed  to  himself  that  he  would 
have  been  contented  even  with  so  much.  But  Mr.  Creswell 
knew  that  his  son  was  worse  than  stupid  ; that  he  was 
bad,  low  in  his  tastes  and  associations,  sordid  and  servile 
in  his  heart,  cunning,  mean,  and  despicable.  All  the 
qualities  which  should  have  distinguished  him — gentle- 
manly bearing,  refined  manners,  cultivated  tastes,  generous 
impulses — all  these  he  lacked:  with  a desire  for  sharp 
practice,  hard-heartedness,  rudeness  towards  those  beneath 
him  in  the  social  scale,  boorishness  towards  his  equals,  he  was 
overflowing.  Lout  that  he  was,  he  had  not  even  reverence 
for  his  father,  had  not  even  the  decency  to  attempt  to  hide 
his  badness,  but  paraded  it  in  the  open  day  before  the  eyes 
of  all,  with  a kind  of  sullen  pride.  And  that  was  to  be  the 
end  of  all  Mr.  Creswell’s  plotting  and  planning,  all  his  hard 
work  and  high  hopes?  For  this  he  had  toiled,  and  slaved, 
and  speculated  ? Many  and  many  a bitter  hour  did  the  old 
man  pass  shut  away  in  the  seclusion  of  his  library,  thinking 
over  the  bright  hopes  which  he  had  indulged  in  as 
regarded  his  son’s  career,  and  the  way  in  which  they  had 
been  slighted,  the  bright  what  might  have  been,  the  dim 
what  was.  Yainly  the  father  would  endeavour  to  argue 
with  himself,  that  the  boy  was  as  yet  but  a boy  ; that  when 
he  became  a man  he  would  put  away  the  things  which 
were  not  childish  indeed,  for  then  would  there  have  been 
more  hope,  but  bad,  and  in  the  fulness  of  time  develop  into 
what  had  been  expected  of  him.  Mr.  Creswell  knew  to 
the  contrary.  He  had  watched  his  son  for  years  with  too 
deep  an  interest  not  to  have  perceived  that,  as  the  years 
passed  away,  the  light  lines  in  the  boy’s  character  grew 
dim  and  faint,  and  the  dark  lines  deepened  in  intensity. 


112 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


Year  by  year  the  boy  became  harder,  coarser,  more  cal- 
culating, and  more  avaricious.  As  a child  he  had  lent  his 
pocket  money  out  on  usury  to  his  schoolfellows,  and  now 
he  talked  to  his  father  about  investments  and  interest  in 
a manner  which  would  have  pleased  some  parents  and 
amused  others,  but  which  brought  anything  but  pleasure 
to  Mr.  Creswell  as  he  marked  the  keen  hungry  look  in  the 
boy’s  sunken  eyes,  and  listened  to  his  half-framed  and 
abortive  but  always  sordid  plans. 

Between  father  and  son  there  was  not  the  smallest  bond 
of  sympathy;  that,  Mr.  Creswell  had  brought  himself  to 
confess.  How  many  score  times  had  he  looked  into  the 
boy’s  face,  hoping  to  see  there  some  gleam  of  filial  love, 
and  had  turned  away  bitterly  disappointed ! How  often  had 
he  tried  to  engage  the  lad  in  topics  of  conversation  which  he 
imagined  would  have  been  congenial  to  him,  and  on  which  he 
might  have  suffered  himself  to  be  drawn  out,  but  without 
the  slightest  success  ! The  jovial  miller  who  lived  upon  the 
Dee  was  not  one  whit  less  careless  than  Tom  Creswell 
about  the  opinion  which  other  folks  entertained  of  him,  so 
long  as  you  did  not  interfere  with  any  of  his  plans.  Even 
the  intended  visit  of  Mrs.  Ashurst  and  Marian  to  Wool- 
greaves  elicited  very  little  remark  from  him,  although  the 
girls  imagined  it  might  not  be  quite  acceptable  to  him,  and 
consulted  together  as  to  how  the  news  should  be  broken  to 
the  domestic  bashaw.  After  a great  deal  of  cogitation  and 
suggestion,  it  was  decided  that  the  best  plan  would  be  to 
take  the  tyrant  at  a favourable  opportunity — at  meal-time, 
for  instance — and  to  approach  the  subject  in  a light  and 
airy  manner,  as  though  it  were  of  no  great  consequence, 
and  was  only  mentioned  for  the  sake  of  something  to  say. 
The  plot  thus  conceived  was  duly  carried  out  two  days 
afterwards,  on  an  occasion  when,  from  the  promptitude  and 
agility  with  which  he  wielded  his  knife  and  fork,  and  the 
stertorous  grunts  and  lip-smackings  which  accompanied  his 
performance,  it  was  rightly  judged  that  Master  Tom  was 
enjoying  his  dinner  with  an  extra  relish.  Mr.  Creswell 
was  absent — he  seldom  attended  at  the  luncheon-table— 


THE  LOUT. 


113 


and  the  girls  interchanged  a nod  of  intelligence,  and  pre- 
pared to  commence  the  play.  They  had  had  but  little 
occasion  or  opportunity  for  acting,  and  were  consequently 
nervous  to  a degree. 

“ Did  you  see  much  of  Mrs.  Ashnrst  in — in  poor  Mr. 
Ashurst’s  time,  at  the  school,  Tom?”  commenced  Ger- 
trude, with  a good  deal  of  hesitation  and  a profound  study 
of  her  plate. 

“ No,  no,  not  much-— quite  enough ! ” returned  Tom, 
without  raising  his  head. 

“ Why  quite  enough,  Tom  ? ” came  in  Maude  to 
the  rescue.  “ She  is  a most  delightful  woman,  I’m 
sure.” 

“ Most  charming,”  threw  in  Gertrude,  a little  un- 
decidedly, but  still  in  support. 

“ Ah,  very  likely,”  said  Tom.  “ We  didn’t  see  much  of 
her — the  day-boys,  I mean ; but  Peacock  and  the  other 
fellows  who  boarded  at  Mr.  Ashurst’s  declared  she  used  to 
water  the  beer,  and  never  sent  back  half  the  fellows’  towels 
and  sheets  when  they  left.” 

“ How  disgraceful ! how  disgusting ! ” burst  out 
Maude.  “ Mrs.  Aslrurst  is  a perfect  lady,  and — oh,  what 
wretches  boys  are  ! ” 

“ Screech  away  ! I don’t  mind,”  said  the  philosophic 
Tom.  “ Only  what’s  up  about  this  ? What’s  the  matter 
with  old  Mother  Ashurst  ? ” 

“Nothing  is  the  matter  with  Mrs.  Ashurst,  your 
father’s  friend,  Tom,”  said  Gertrude,  trying  a bit  of 
dignity,  and  failing  miserably  therein,  for  Gertrude  was  a 
lovable,  kissable,  Dresden-china  style  of  beauty,  without 
a particle  of  dignity  in  her  whole  composition.  “ Mrs. 
Ashurst  is  your  father’s  friend,  sir,  at  least  the  widow  of 
his  old  friend,  and  your  father  has  asked  her  to  come 
and  stay  here  on  a visit,  and — and  we  all  hope  you’ll  be 
polite  to  her.”  It  was  seldom  that  Gertrude  achieved 
such  a long  sentence,  or  delivered  one  with  so  much 
force.  It  was  quite  plain  that  Mrs.  Ashurst  was  a favourite 
of  hers. 


I 


ii4 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


“ Oh,”  said  Tom,  “ all  right ! Old  Mother  Ashurst’s 
coming  here  on  a visit,  is  she  ? All  right ! ” 

“ And  Miss  Ashnrst  comes  with  her,”  said  Maude. 

“ Oh,  Lord  ! ” cried  Tom  Creswell.  “Miss  Prim  coming 
too ! That’ll  be  a clear  saving  of  the  governor’s  vinegar 
and  olives  all  the  time  she’s  here.  She’s  a nice  creature, 
she  is  ! ” 

And  he  screwed  up  his  mouth  with  an  air  of  excessive 
distaste. 

“ Well,  at  all  events,  she’s  going  to  be  your  father’s 
guest,  and  we  must  all  do  our  best  to  make  the  visit 
pleasant  to  them,”  said  Gertrude,  who,  like  most  people 
who  are  most  proud  of  what  they  do  least  well,  thought  she 
was  playing  dignity  admirably. 

“ Oh,  I don’t  care ! ” said  Tom.  “ If  the  governor  likes 
to  have  them  here,  and  you  two  girls  are  so  sweet  upon 
them  all  of  a sudden,  I say,  all  right.  Only  look  here — no 
interference  with  me  in  any  way.  The  sight  of  me 
mustn’t  make  the  old  lady  break  down  and  burst  out 
blubbering,  or  anything  of  that  sort,  and  no  asking  me  how 
I’m  getting  on  with  my  lessons,  and  that  kind  of  thing. 
Stow  that,  mind  ! ” 

“ You  needn’t  trouble  yourself,  I think,”  said  Maude ; 
“it  is  scarcely  likely  that  either  Mrs.  or  Miss  Ashurst  will 
feel  very  keen  interest  in  you  or  your  pursuits.” 

And  out  of  Maude’s  flashing  eyes,  and  through 
Maude’s  tightly  compressed  lips,  the  sarcasm  came  cutting 
like  a knife. 

But  when  their  visitors  had  been  but  a very  short  time 
established  at  Woolgreaves,  it  became  evident  not  merely 
to  Mr.  Creswell,  but  to  all  in  the  house,  that  Master  Tom 
had  at  last  met  with  some  one  who  could  exercise  in- 
fluence over  him,  and  that  some  one  was  Marian  Ashurst. 
It  was  the  treatment  that  did  it.  Tom  had  been  alter- 
nately petted  and  punished,  scolded  and  spoiled,  but 
he  had  never  been  turned  into  ridicule  before,  and  when 
Marian  tried  that  treatment  on  him  he  succumbed  at  once. 
He  confessed  he  had  always  thought  that  “ he  could  not 


THE  LOUT. 


115 


stand  chaff,”  and  now  he  knew  it.  Marian’s  "badinage  was, 
as  might  be  supposed,  of  a somewhat  grave  and  serious 
order.  Tom’s  bluntness,  uncouthness,  avarice,  and  self- 
love  were  constantly  betraying  themselves  in  his  conver- 
sation and  conduct,  and  each  of  them  offered  an  admirable 
target  at  which  Marian  fired  telling  shots.  The  girls  were 
at  first  astonished  and  then  delighted,  as  was  Mr.  Creswell, 
w?ho  had  a faint  hope  that  under  the  correction  thus 
lightly  administered  his  son  might  be  brought  to  see  how 
objectionable  were  certain  of  his  views  and  proceedings. 
The  lout  himself  did  not  like  it  at  all.  His  impossibility 
of  standing  “chaff,”  or  of  answering  it,  rendered  him  for 
the  first  time  a nonenity  in  the  family  circle ; his  voice, 
usually  loud  and  strident,  was  hushed  whenever  Marian 
came  into  the  room.  The  domestic  atmosphere  at  Wool- 
greaves  was  far  more  pleasant  than  it  had  been  for  some 
time,  and  Mr.  Creswell  thought  that  the  “ sweet  little 
girl  ” was  not  merely  a “ dead  hand  at  a bargain,”  but  that 
she  possessed  the  brute-taming  power  in  a manner  hitherto 
undreamed  of.  Decidedly  she  was  a very  exceptional  per- 
son, and  more  highly  gifted  than  any  one  would  suppose. 

Tom  hated  her  heartily,  and  chafed  inwardly  because 
he  did  not  see  his  way  to  revenging  himself  on  her.  He 
had  not  the  wit  to  reply  when  Marian  turned  him  into 
ridicule,  and  he  dared  not  answer  her  with  mere  rudeness ; 
so  he  remained  silent  and  sulky,  brooding  over  his  rage, 
and  racking  his  brains  to  try  and  find  a crack  in  his  enemy’s 
armour — a vulnerable  place.  He  found  it  at  last,  but, 
characteristically,  took  no  notice  at  the  time,  waiting  for 
his  opportunity.  That  came.  One  day,  after  luncheon, 
when  her  mother  had  gone  up  for  a quiet  nap,  and  the 
girls  were  practising  duets  in  the  music-room,  Marian  set 
out  for  a long  walk  across  the  hard,  dry,  frost-covered 
fields  to  the  village ; the  air  was  brisk  and  bracing,  and 
the  girl  was  in  better  spirits  than  usual.  She  thoroughly 
appreciated  the  refined  comforts  and  the  luxurious  living 
of  Woolgreaves,  and  the  conduct  of  the  host  and  his  nieces 
towards  her  had  been  so  perfectly  charming,  that  she  had 


116 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


almost  forgotten  that  her  enjoyment  of  those  luxuries  was 
but  temporary,  and  that  very  shortly  she  would  have  to 
face  the  world  in  a worse  position  than  she  had  as  yet 
occupied,  and  to  fight  the  great  battle  of  life,  too,  for  her 
mother  and  herself.  Often  in  the  evening,  as  she  sat  in 
the  drawing-room  buried  in  the  soft  cushions  of  the  sofa, 
dreamily  listening  to  the  music  which  the  girls  were  play- 
ing, lazily  watching  her  mother  cosily  seated  in  the 
chimney-corner,  and  old  Mr.  Creswell  by  her,  quietly 
beating  time  to  the  tune,  the  firelight  flickering  over  the 
furniture  and  appointments  bespeaking  wealth  and  com- 
fort, she  would  fall  into  a kind  of  half-trance,  in  which  she 
would  believe  that  the  great  desire  of  her  life  had  been 
accomplished,  and  that  she  was  rich — placed  far  above  the 
necessity  of  toil  or  the  torture  of  penury.  Nor  was  the 
dream  ever  entirely  dispelled.  The  comfort  and  luxury 
were  there,  and  as  to  the  term  of  her  enjoyment,  how 
could  that  be  prolonged  ? Her  busy  brain  was  filled  with 
that  idea  this  afternoon,  and  so  deeply  was  she  in  thought, 
that  she  scarcely  started  at  a loud  crashing  of  branches 
close  beside  her,  and  only  had  time  to  draw  back  as  Tom 
Creswell’s  chestnut  mare,  with  Tom  Creswell  on  her  back, 
landed  into  the  field  beside  her. 

“ Good  heavens,  Tom,  how  you  startled  me ! ” cried 
Marian;  “and  what’s  the  matter  with  Kitty?  She’s 
covered  with  foam,  and  trembling  all  over ! ” 

“ I’ve  been  taking  it  out  of  the  blunder-headed  brute, 
that’s  all,  Miss  Ashurst,”  said  the  lout,  with  a vicious  dig 
of  his  spurs  into  the  mare’s  sides,  which  caused  her  to  snort 
loudly  and  to  rear  on  end. — “ Ah,  would  you,  you  brute? 
— She’s  got  it  in  her  head  that  she  won’t  jump  to-day,  and 
I’m  showing  her  she  will,  and  she  must,  if  I choose. — 
Stand  still,  now,  and  get  your  wind,  d’ye  hear?”  And  he 
threw  the  reins  on  the  mare’s  neck,  and  turned  round  in 
his  saddle,  facing  Marian.  “ I’m  glad  I’ve  met  you,  Miss 
Ashurst,”  he  continued,  with  a very  evil  light  in  his  sullen 
face,  “ for  I’ve  got  something  to  say  to  you,  and  I’m  just 
in  the  mood  to  say  it  now.” 


THE  LOUT. 


117 


He  looked  so  thoroughly  vicious  and  despicable,  that 
Marian’s  first  feeling  of  alarm  changed  into  disgust  as  she 
looked  at  him  and  said — 

“ What  is  it,  Tom  ? — say  on  ! ” 

“ Oh,  I intend  to,”  said  the  lout,  with  a baleful  grin. 
“ I intend  to  say  on,  whether  you  like  it  or  not.  I’ve 
waited  a precious  long  time,  and  I intend  to  speak  now. 
Look  here.  You’ve  had  a fine  turn  at  me,  you  have ! 
Chaffin’  me,  and  pokin’  your  fun  at  me,  and  shuttin’  me  up 
whenever  I spoke.  You’re  doosid  clever,  you  are,  and  so 
sharp,  and  all  that ; and  I’m  such  a fool,  I am,  but  I’ve 
found  out  your  game  for  all  that ! ” 

“ My  game,  Tom  ! Do  you  know  what  you’re  talking 
about,  and  to  whom  you  are  talking  ? ” 

“ Oh,  don’t  I ! That’s  just  it.  I’m  talking  to  Miss 
Marian  Ashurst,  and  Miss  Marian  Ashurst’s  game  is  money- 
making ! Lord  bless  you,  they  know  all  about  it  down  in 
the  village — the  Crokes,  and  the  Whichers,  and  them, 
they’re  full  of  stories  of  you  when  you  was  a little  girl,  and 
they  all  know  you’re  not  changed  now.  But  look  here, 
keep  it  to  yourself,  or  take  it  away  from  our  place.  Don’t 
try  it  on  here.  It’s  quite  enough  to  have  those  two  girls 
saddled  on  the  family,  but  they  are  relations,  and  that’s 
some  excuse.  We  don’t  want  any  more,  mark  that.  My 
father’s  getting  old  now,  and  he’s  weak,  and  don’t  see 
things  so  clearly  as  he  did,  but  I do.  I see  why  your 
mother’s  got  hold  of  those  girls,  and  how  you’re  trying  to 
make  yourself  useful  to  the  governor.  I heard  you  offering 
to  go  through  the  Home-Farm  accounts  the  other  day.” 

“ I offered  because  your — because Oh,  Tom,  how 

dare  you  I You  wicked,  wicked  boy  ! ” 

“ Oh  yes,  I know,  very  likely ; but  I won’t  let  any  one 
interfere  with  me.  You  thought  you  were  going  to  settle 
yourself  on  us.  I don’t  intend  it.  I’m  a boy — all  right ; 
but  I know  how  to  get  my  own  way,  and  I means  to  have 
it.  This  hot-tempered  brute”  (pointing  to  the  pony) 
“ has  found  that  out,  and  you’ll  find  it  out,  too,  before  I 
have  done  with  you.  That’s  ail. — Get  on,  now  ! ” 


118 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


The  pony  sprang  into  the  air  as  he  gave  her  a savage 
cnt  with  his  whip,  and  he  rode  off,  leaving  Marian  in  an 
agony  of  shame  and  rage. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

A REMOVAL. 

Some  few  minutes  passed  before  Marian  felt  sufficiently 
recovered  to  move.  The  attack  had  been  so  unexpected 
and  so  brutal  that  she  would  have  been  perfectly  paralysed 
by  it  even  if  the  words  which  the  boy  had  used  had  been 
the  outpourings  of  mere  random  savagery,  instead  of,  as 
they  evidently  were,  the  result  of  premeditated  and  planned 
insult — insult  grounded  on  hate,  and  hate  springing  from 
fear.  Marian’s  quick  intelligence  made  that  plain  to  her 
in  a moment.  The  boy  feared  her,  feared  that  she  might 
obtain  an  ascendancy  over  his  father,  and  get  the  old 
gentleman  to  advance  money  to  Mrs.  Ashurst — money  that 
ought  not  to  go  out  of  the  family,  and  should  be  his  at  his 
father’s  death — or  perhaps  fancied  she  was  scheming  to 

quarter  herself  at  Woolgreaves,  and Good  heavens, 

could  he  have  thought  that ! Why,  the  idea  had  never 
crossed  her  mind.  She  dismissed  it  at  once,  not  without  a 
half  smile  at  the  notion  of  the  retribution  she  could  inflict, 
at  the  thought  that  the  boy  had  suggested  to  her  what 
might  be  such  a punishment  for  himself  as  she  had  never 
dreamed  of. 

She  walked  on  quickly,  communing  with  herself.  So 
they  had  found  her  out,  had  they  ? Tom’s  blurted  warning 
was  the  first  intimation  she  had  had  that  what  she  knew 
to  be  the  guiding  purpose  of  her  life,  the  worship  of,  love 
for,  intended  acquisition  of  money,  was  suspected  by  any, 
known  to  any  one  else.  No  syllable  on  the  subject,  either 
jestingly  or  reproachfully,  had  ever  been  breathed  to  her 


A REMOVAL, 


119 


before.  It  was  not  likely  that  she  would  have  heard  of  it. 
Her  father  had  considered  her  to  be  perfect ; her  mother 
had  set  down  all  her  small  economies,  scrapings,  and 
hoardings  which  were  practised  in  the  household  to 
Marian’s  “ wonderful  management ; ” and  however  the 
feminine  portion  of  the  Whicher  and  Croke  families  might 
talk  among  themselves,  their  respect  for  the  schoolmaster 
and  their  dread  of  Marian’s  powers  of  retort  always  effect- 
ually prevented  them  from  dropping  any  hints  at  the 
schoolhouse.  So  Marian  heard  it  now  for  the  first  time. 
Yet  there  was  nothing  in  it  to  be  ashamed  of,  she  thought; 
if  her  poor  father  had  been  guided  by  this  sentiment 
his  life  might  have  been  perhaps  preserved,  and  certainly 
an  immense  amount  of  misery  would  have  been  spared  to 
them  all.  Love  of  money,  a desire  to  acquire  wealth, — 
who  should  reproach  her  for  that  ? Not  Mr.  Creswell,  of 
whose  good  opinion  she  seemed  to  think  first,  for  had  not 
his  whole  life  been  passed  in  the  practice,  and  was  not  his 
present  position  the  result,  the  example  to  which  she  could 
point  in  defence  of  her  creed?  Not  Maude  or  Gertrude 
Creswell,  who  if  they  had  possessed  the  smallest  spark  of 
independence  would  have  been  earning  their  bread  as 
companions  or  governesses.  Not  the  people  of  the  village, 

who Yes,  by  Tom’s  account  they  did  talk  of  her; 

but  what  then  ? What  the  people  in  the  village  thought 
or  said  about  her  had  never  been  of  the  smallest  interest 
to  Marian  Ashurst  when  she  lived  among  them,  and  was 
brought  into  daily  communion  with  them ; it  was  there- 
fore not  likely  that  she  would  take  much  heed  of  it  now, 
as  she  had  made  up  her  mind  that  she  and  her  mother 
must  go  and  live  in  another  place,  far  away  from  all 
old  scenes  and  associations,  when  they  left  Woolgreaves. 

When  they  left  Woolgreaves  ! Hitherto  she  had  not 
bestowed  much  thought  upon  that  necessarily  closely  ap- 
proaching event,  but  now  she  turned  her  attention  to  it. 
Under  ordinary  circumstances,  even  if  things  had  gone  on 
pleasantly  as  heretofore,  if  their  stay  had  been  made  as 
comfortable  to  them,  the  attention  of  Mr.  Creswell  and  his 


120 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


nieces  had  been  as  great,  and  the  general  desire  for  them 
to  remain  as  obvious,  they  would  have  had  in  common 
decency  to  propose  some  date  for  the  expiration  of  their 
visit.  And  now  that  Tom,  who  had  hitherto  been  only  a 
negative  nuisance,  developed  into  a positive  enemy,  it  was 
doubly  necessary  that  they  should  take  precaution  not  to 
outstay  their  welcome.  Yes,  they  must  go  ! Give  up  all 
the  comforts  and  luxury,  the  fine  airy  rooms,  the  bedroom 
fires,  the  carriage  drives,  the  good  living,  the  wine,  and 
attention,  all  of  which  combined  had  done  Mrs.  Ashurst  so 
much  good,  and  rendered  her  stronger  and  sounder  than 
she  had  been  for  years — all  these  must  be  given  up,  and 
they  must  go  away  to  poky,  stivy  lodgings,  with  dirt  and 
discomfort  of  every  kind ; with  wretched  cooking  which 
would  turn  her  mother  sick,  and  the  attendance  of  a 
miserable  maid- of-all- work,  who  would  not  understand  any 
of  their  ways,  and  the  perpetual  presence  of  penury  and 
want  making  itself  felt  every  hour  of  their  lives.  The 
picture  was  so  horrible,  so  repugnant  to  Marian,  that  she 
determined  not  to  let  it  engross  her  thoughts  in  anticipa- 
tion; it  would  be  quite  sufficient  to  cope  with  when  it 
came,  and  she  should  require  all  her  energies  fresh  and 
untaxed  for  the  encounter.  So  she  walked  briskly  on,  and 
as  she  had  now  reached  the  village  her  attention  was  soon 
quickly  absorbed  by  the  greetings  which  she  received,  and 
the  talk  in  which  she  had  to  take  part. 

The  first  greetings  were  from  Mr.  Benthall.  Marian 
had  determined  that  she  would  not  go  down  Southwood 
Lane,  which  led  to  the  schoolhouse,  as  she  had  no  desire  of 
encountering  either  master  or  boys  in  her  then  mood.  She 
had  not  been  near  the  school  since  she  and  her  mother  left 
the  house,  and  she  had  arranged  in  her  mind  a little  farewell 
on  her  part  to  both  when  she  left  the  village.  And  now 
here  was  Mr.  Benthall  advancing  straight  towards  her, 
and  there  was  no  possibility  of  escape,  as  she  remembered 
that  it  was  the  Saturday  half-holiday,  and  that  she  should 
probably  have  to  run  the  gauntlet  of  a score  of  friends. 
Mr.  Benthall  was  a brisk,  lively,  agreeable  man,  with 


A REMOVAL. 


121 


cheerfulness  and  pleasant  manners,  and  plenty  of  small 
talk.  He  was,  moreover,  a gentleman  and  a man  of  the 
world,  and  he  knew  exactly  how  to  pitch  the  key  of  his 
conversation  to  a young  lady,  the  daughter  of  his  prede- 
cessor, who  might  or  might  not — Mr.  Benthall’s  experience 
of  human  nature  told  him  might,  and  probably  would — 
feel  somewhat  antipathetic  towards  him.  So  Mr.  Benthall 
talked  of  Mrs.  Ashurst,  and  of  Mr.  Creswell,  and  of  the 
young  ladies,  and  of  Tom.  “ My  friend  Trollope’s  young 
charge,”  as  Mr.  Benthall  spoke  of  him,  with  a somewhat 
malicious  sparkle  in  his  eye.  And  the  weather  was  quite 
cold,  was  it  not  ? and  the  frost  had  set  in  quite  early,  had 
it  not  ? And  Miss  Ashurst  was  looking  so  blooming  that 
Mr.  Benthall  had  no  need  to  ask  her  how  she  was,  which 
was,  indeed,  the  reason  why  he  had  not  done  so  long  since, 
but  must  beg  her  to  take  charge  of  his  kindest  compliments 
for  her  mother  and  the  young  ladies  and  Mr.  Creswell. 
And  Mr.  Benthall  had  taken  off  his  well-brushed  hat,  and  had 
skipped  across  the  road  in  his  well-brushed,  shapely  boots, 
and  Marian  was  contrasting  him  with  that  figure  which 
was  ever  present  to  her  memory — her  father,  bowed, 
and  shrunken,  and  slatternly,  and  ill-dressed — when  she 
heard  her  Christian  name  called  aloud,  and  Dr.  Osborne, 
in  his  little  four-wheeled  pony-carriage,  drew  up  by  her 
side. 

“Well,  Princess!”  said  the  cheery  old  medico;  “for 
since  I have  made  you  hear  I may  as  well  address  you  by 
your  title — well,  Princess,  how  goes  it  ? ” 

“It  goes  very  well  indeed,  dear  Dr.  Osborne,”  said 
Marian,  returning  his  hand-pressure.  “But  why  Prin- 
cess ? ” 

“Why  Princess!  What  lower  rank  could  a girl  be 
who  lives  in  a palace,  over  there,  I mean,  with  ‘ vassals 
and  slaves  by  her  side,’  as  I’ve  heard  my  girl  sing  years 
ago,  and  all  that  kind  of  thing  ? ” 

“ But  surely  only  a princess  of  the  Cinderella  style,  my 
dear  doctor;  only  enjoying  the  vassals  and  the  slaves,  and 
what  you  call  ‘ that  kind  of  thing/  for  a very  limited  time. 


122 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


Twelve  o’clock  must  strike  very  soon,  dear  old  friend,  in 
our  case,  and  then  this  princess  will  go  back  to  the  pots 
and  kettles,  and  cinder-sifting,  and  a state  of  life  worse 
than  ever  she  has  known  before.” 

“ God  forbid,  my  dear ! 55  said  the  doctor  seriously. 
“Which  way  are  you  going — back  again  to  Woolgreaves? 
All  right.  I’m  driving  that  road,  and  I’ll  set  you  down  at 
the  gates.  Jump  in,  child.  I wanted  a few  minutes’  talk 
with  you,  and  this  has  just  happened  luckily ; we  can  have 
it  without  any  interruption.” 

He  stretched  out  his  hand  and  helped  Marian  into  the 
seat  by  his  side ; then  gave  the  brisk  little  pony  his  head, 
and  they  rattled  cheerily  along. 

“ Let  me  see,  my  dear,  what  was  I saying  ? ” said  the 
doctor,  after  the  silence  of  a few  minutes.  “ By  the  way, 
I think  I ought  to  have  called  in  the  village  to  see  little 
Pickering,  who’s  in  for  measles,  I suspect.  I must  start  a 
memorandum-book,  my  memory  is  beginning  to  fail  me. 
What  was  I saying,  my  dear  ? ” 

“You  were  saying  that  you  wanted  to  talk  to  me— 
about  Woolgreaves,  I think  it  must  have  been.” 

“ About  Woolgreaves — the  palace,  as  I called  it — oh  yes, 
that  was  it.  See  here,  child ; I’m  the  oldest  friend  'you 
have  in  the  world,  and  I hope  one  of  the  truest ; and  I 
want  you  to  answer  my  questions  frankly,  and  without 
reserve,  just  as  if  I were  your  father,  you  know.” 

“ I will  do  so,”  said  Marian,  after  a faint  flutter  at 
her  heart,  caused  by  the  notion  of  the  little  doctor,  good 
little  soul  as  he  was,  comparing  himself  with  her  dead 
father. 

“ That’s  right,”  said  Dr.  Osborne.  “I  knew  you  almost 
before  you  came  into  the  world,  and  that  gives  me  some 
right  to  your  confidence.  Now,  then,  are  you  happy  at 
Woolgreaves  ? ” 

Marian  hesitated  a moment  before  she  replied : “Happier 
than  I thought  I could  have  been — yet.” 

“Ah,  that’s  right  and  straightforward.  Mind,  in  all 
these  questions  I’m  alluding  to  you,  not  to  your  mother. 


A REMOVAL. 


123 


I know  her — charming  lady,  affectionate,  and  all  that,  but 
clinging  and  unreasoning,  likes  to  lie  where  she  falls,  and 
so  on ; whereas  you’ve  got  a head  on  your  shoulders,  finely 
developed  and — so  on.  Now,  are  they  all  kind  to  you  at 
Woolgr  eaves  ? Old  gentleman  kind  ? ” 

“ Most  kind ! ” 

“ Of  course  he  is.  Never  was  a man  so  full  of  heart  as 
he  is.  If  he  had  only  been  at  home  when  your  poor  father 
—ah,  well,  that’s  no  matter  now.” 

“What’s  that  you  said,  Dr.  Osborne — that  about  my 
father  ? ” 

“ Stupid  old  fool  to  go  blundering  into  such  a subject ! 
Why  couldn’t  I have  let  it  alone  ? ‘ Let  the  dead  past  bury 
its  dead.5  What’s  that  I’ve  heard  my  girl  sing  ? ” the  old 
gentleman  muttered  to  himself.  Then  aloud,  “ Nothing, 
my  dear.  I was  only  thinking  that  if  Mr.  Creswell  had 
been]  at  home  just  at  the  time  I dare  say  we  might  have 
made  some  arrangement,  and  had  Godby  down  from  St. 
Vitus,  and  then ” 

“ And  then  my  father  need  not  have  died  for  the  want 
of  a hundred  and  thirty  guineas ! Oh,  don’t  think  I forget.” 
And  there  came  into  the  girl’s  face  the  hard,  stony,  rigid 
look  which  Dr.  Osborne  remembered  there:  so  well  on  the 
night  of  her  father’s  death,  six  months  before. 

“ Well,”  said  the  little  doctor,  laying  the  whip  across 
his  knee  and  blowing  his  nose  so  loudly  that  the  pony  shied 
at  the  noise — “ well,  well,  dear,  Mr.  Creswell’s  absence  at 
that  particular  time  was,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  unfortunate ; 
we  may  say  that.  Now,  what  about  the  girls ; are  they 
kind?” 

“ Very,  in  their  way.” 

“ Good  ! ” said  the  little  doctor,  bringing  his  hand  down 
with  a ringing  slap  on  the  chaise-apron,  “ I like  that ! 
Dry— deuced  dry.  Like  your  poor  father,  that.  ‘ In  their 
way.’  Ha,  ha ! I understand.  Their  way  is  not  much 
yours  ? ” 

“ They  are  very  good-tempered  and  polite,  and  press 
one  to  eat  and  drink  a great  deal,  and  hand  chairs  and 


124 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


footstools,  and  always  sing  when  they  are  asked.  And,” 
added  Marian,  after  a moment’s  pause,  and  under  a fear 
that  she  had  been  unduly  cynical,  “ and  they  are  most 
attentive  and  affectionate  to  mamma.” 

“ I am  delighted  to  hear  that,  for  that’s  just  as  it  should 
be,  just  as  one  would  have  wished  it  to  turn  out.  Oh  yes, 
quite  ladies,  with  all  the  feelings  and  perceptions  of  ladies, 
and  talking  to  your  mother  nicely,  and  so  on.  Not  too 
bright — not  to  be  compared  with  you  or  my  girl.  Ah, 
there  would  have  been  a companion  for  you,  my  dear  ; all 
soul,  and  such  an  arm  for  the  harp,  but  married  to  the 
coastguard  in  Dorsetshire ! — but  still  nice  girls.  Well, 
I’m  glad  you  give  me  this  account,  my  dear,  for  it  suits 
exactly  the  suggestion  I was  about  to  make.  But  before 
I made  it  I wanted  to  be  quite  sure  of  your  position  at 
Woolgreaves,  and  to  know  for  certain  that  you  were  liked 
by  all  the  family.” 

“You  are  not  certain  of  that  yet,  doctor.  There  is  one 
of  the  family  about  whom  you  have  made  no  inquiry.” 

“One  of  the  family — at  Woolgreaves?  Oh,  by  Jove, 
Tom— Master  Torn!  I recollect  now — a most  important 
personage  in  his  own  esteem,  and  really  some  one  to.  be 
thought  of  in  such  a matter  as  this.  And  how  does  Master 
Tom  behave  to  you  ? ” 

“ Like  a — like  a scoundrel ! ” cried  Marian,  her  eyes 
flashing,  and  all  the  colour  ablaze  in  her  cheeks.  “ He  has 
been,  ever  since  we  have  been  there,  either  rude  and  rough, 
or  sulky  and  unpleasant ; but  to-day,  just  before  I saw  you, 
not  an  hour  ago,  he  met  me  in  the  fields,  and  insulted  me 
in  the  grossest  manner ; talked  about  our  poverty,  and 

hinted  that — hinted ” and  the  remainder  of  the  sentence 

was  lost  in  a burst  of  tears. 

“ Happy  hit  of  mine,  that,”  muttered  the  doctor  to  him- 
self. “ I seem  to  be  distinguishing  myself  to-day.  Young 
ruffian,  that  Tom.  He  shall  have  a pretty  dose  next  time 
I’m  sent  for  to  him,  I’ll  take  care. — Come,  my  dear,  then, 
you  must  not  mind ; he’s  only  a boy — a rude  beastly  boy, 
with  no  manners,  and  no  heart  either,  and  not  much  chest 


A REMOVAL. 


125 


or  stomach,  for  the  matter  of  that.  You  must  not  mind 
him.  It’s  a pity  he’s  not  nice  to  you,  because  he  has  a 
certain  power  in  that  house ; and  if  he  were  to  pronounce 
himself  as  decidedly  in  opposition  to  the  little  scheme  I had 
in  my  mind,  and  about  which  I was  going  to  talk  to  you,  it 
is  very  probable  it  might  fall  to  the  ground.  But  there  are 
various  ways  of  getting  over  objectionable  boys.  Lord 
bless  me  ! in  my  time  I’ve  taken  boys  into  the  surgery, 
and  brought  them  round  by  a handful  of  acidulated  drops, 
and  have  tamed  the  most  refractory  by  a Tolu  lozenge.” 

“ I scarcely  think  that  Tom  Creswell  is  to  be  bought 
over  on  such  easy  terms,”  said  Marian,  with  a faint  and 
weary  smile.  “ But,  doctor,  what  was  the  suggestion  you 
were  about  to  make  ? ” 

“ Simply  this,  my  dear : That  instead  of  your  removing 
into  Mrs.  Swainson’s  lodgings,  which  are  by  no  means 
suited  for  you,  and  where  I should  be  very  sorry  to  see 
you,  or  into  any  lodging  at  all,  you  should — when  I say 
you,  I mean,  of  course,  you  and  Mrs.  Ashurst — should 
remain  at  Woolgreaves.” 

“ Remain  at  Woolgreaves  ? For  how  long?  ” 

“ Well,  as  romantic  or  thoughtless  people  say,  ‘ for 
ever ; ’ at  all  events,  until  the  condition  of  each  of  you  is 
changed — by  different  means,  let  us  hope.” 

“ And  under  what  conditions  is  this  scheme  to  be 
realised  ? I suppose  Mr.  Creswell  would  scarcely  take  us 
in  as  boarders  at  Woolgreaves,  doctor?” 

“ No,  my  dear  child,  no.  You  are  pleased  to  be  satirical, 
but  I am  in  earnest.  That  the  labourer  is  worthy  of  his 
hire  is  a principle  that  has  been  recognised  for  centuries ; 
and  you  shall  labour,  and  for  hire.  See  here,  this  is  how 
the  thought  first  came  into  my  head.  Mrs.  Caddy,  the 
housekeeper  at  Woolgreaves,  a very  worthy  woman,  has 
been  ailing  of  late,  and  came  to  consult  me  last  week. 
Our  climate  don’t  do  for  her.  She’s  a little  touched  in  the 
chest,  and  must  get  away  further  south  for  the  winter.  I 
told  her  so  plainly,  and  she  didn’t  seem  at  all  uncomfortable 
about  it.  Her  friends  live  in  Devonshire,  and  she’s  saved 


126 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


a good  bit  of  money,  I should  think,  since  she’s  been  in 
Mr.  Creswell’s  service.  All  that  seemed  to  worry  her  was 
what  they  would  do  at  Woolgreaves  without  her.  She 
harped  upon  this  several  times,  and  at  last  a ray  of  light 
seemed  to  break  upon  her  as  she  asked  why  her  place  should 
not  be  taken  by  ‘ t’  young  girl,  schoolmaster’s  daughter  ? ’ ” 
“ Dear  me ! Mrs.  Caddy’s  place  taken  by  me  ? ” 

“ By  you.  It  was  an  irreverent  way  to  speak  of  you, 
Marian  my  dear,  I’ll  admit,  but  there  was  no  irreverence 
intended.  Mrs.  Caddy,  once  set  going,  launched  out  into 
an  interminable  list  of  your  special  virtues.  There  never 
was  a girl  who  4 cottoned  ’ so  completely  to  her  style  of 
pickling  and  preserving;  there  never  was  a girl  who  so 
intuitively  grasped  the  great  secret  of  making  cherry- 
brandy,  or  who  so  quickly  perceived  the  shortcomings  of 
the  still-room  maid  in  the  matter.  And  this  talk  of  the 
worthy  woman’s  gave  me  an  idea.” 

“ The  same  idea  as  Mrs.  Caddy’s?” 

“ The  same,  with  a difference.  Mrs.  Caddy’s  was 
preposterous,  mine  is  possible.  And  mine  is  this  : When 
Mi  s.  Caddy  goes,  let  it  be  understood  that  Mrs.  Ashurst 
has  consented  to  superintend  the  Woolgreaves  household. 
There  would  be  nothing  derogatory  in  the  position;  all 
with  whom  she  would  be  brought  in  contact  would  take 
care  of  that ; and  though  she  would  not  have  the  least 
qualification  for  the  post,  poor  woman — no  affront  to  you, 
my  dear,  but  she  wouldn’t — you  would  be  able  to  keep  all 
smooth,  and  take  care  that  everything  went  straight.” 

“ But  even  such  an  establishment  as  Woolgreaves  would 
not  require  two  housekeepers,  doctor  ? ” 

“ Of  course  it  would  not,”  said  the  old  gentleman, 
pleased  to  see  by  Marian’s  brightening  face  that  the 
proposition  was  not  so  disagreeable  to  her.  “ Of  course  it 
would  not.  Mrs.  Ashurst  would  be  the  responsible  house- 
keeper, while  your  position  as  companion  to  the  young 
ladies  could  be  very  easily  defined,  and  would  be  very 
readily  understood.  Do  you  like  the  plan  ? ” 

All  the  details  of  the  proposition  rushed  through  her 


A REMOVAL. 


127 


mind  before  she  spoke.  Home-comforts,  luxury,  good 
living,  warmth,  care,  attention,  money,  or  at  least  the 
command  if  not  the  possession  of  money,  that  is  what  it 
meant,  instead  of  a wretched  lodging,  a starveling  income, 
penury,  and  perhaps,  so  far  as  certain  necessaries  for  her 
mother  were  concerned,  want.  What  would  they  sacrifice  ? 
Not  freedom — they  had  never  had  it ; and  if  their  lives 
were  still  to  be  passed  in  drudgery,  it  would,  at  all  events, 
be  better  to  be  the  drudge  of  a kind  old  man  and  two 
insignificant  girls,  than  of  a set  of  rackety  schoolboys,  as 
they  had  hitherto  been.  Position?  No  sacrifice  there; 
the  respect  always  paid  to  them  was  paid  to  them  as 
James  Ashurst’s  wife  and  daughter,  and  that  respect  they 
would  still  continue  to  receive.  AIL  in  the  village  knew 
them,  the  state  of  their  finances,  the  necessity  of  their 
availing  themselves  of  any  opportunity  for  bettering  their 
condition  which  might  present  itself ; and  out  of  the 
village  they  had  but  few  acquaintances,  and  none  for 
whose  opinion  they  had  the  least  care.  So  Marian,  with 
beaming  eyes  and  heightened  colour,  said— 

“ Yes,  dear  old  friend,  frankly,  I do  like  the  plan.  If 
it  were  carried  out  an  immense  load  of  anxiety  would  be 
removed  from  my  mind  respecting  mamma’s  immediate 
future,  you  know,  and  it  would  suit  our  circumstances  in 
various  ways.  Is  it  possible?  How  can  it  be  brought 
about  ? ” 

“ You  are  as  prompt  as  ever,  Marian,”  said  the  doctor, 
smiling.  “I  never  saw  a girl  retain  so  many  of  her 
childish  characteristics.”  Marion  winced  a little  as  he  said 
this,  remembering  Tom’s  remarks  that  afternoon  on  her 
childish  character  as  depicted  by  Mesdames  Whicker  and 
Croke.  “ Yes,  I think  it  is  perfectly  feasible,  and  it  can 
be  brought  about  by  me.  Mr.  Creswell,  having  known 
me  for  many  years,  and  believing  that  I never  advise  him 
but  for  his  good,  is  always  ready  to  listen  to  any  advice  I 
give  him,  and  if  I judge  rightly,  will  be  already  pre- 
disposed to  agree  with  this  proposition,  and  to  take  it  as 
though  you  and  your  mamma  were  conferring  a favour  on 


128 


’WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


him  rather  than Dear  me,  look  at  this  foolish  fellow 

coming  towards  us  at  full  gallop  ! The  man  must  he 
drunk. — Hallo,  sir ; hi,  hallo ! — Why,  it’s  one  of  the 
Woolgreaves  grooms,  isn’t  it?  I think  I know  the  man’s 
appearance. — Hallo,  sir,  hi ! what  is  it  ? ” and  the  little 
doctor  pulled  the  chaise  close  into  the  left  hank,  and  stood 
up,  waving  his  whip,  and  shouting  lustily. 

The  horseman,  who  was  urging  his  horse  to  yet  faster 
speed,  paid  no  attention  to  the  shouts,  and  contented 
himself  hy  rising  in  his  stirrups  and  waving  his  hand  as 
though  bespeaking  a clear  way,  until  he  came  close  upon 
the  chaise,  when  he  apparently  recognised  its  occupants, 
and  strove  to  pull  up  his  horse.  With  some  difficulty,  and 
not  until  he  had  shot  past  them,  he  succeeded ; then 
turning  hack,  he  cried  out — . 

^ “ Dr.  Osborne,  I was  going  for  you,  sir.  For  God’s 
sake,  drive  up  to  the  house  at  once — you’re  wanted  awful 
had  ! ” 

“What  is  it?”  asked  the  doctor.— “ Quiet,  my  child, 
don’t  he  alarmed;  don’t  shake  so. — There  is  nothing 
happened  to  your  master  ? ” 

“ No,  sir  ; Master  Tom.” 

“ What  of  him — taken  ill  ? ” 

“ No,  sir — chucked  off  the  chestnut  mare,  and  took  up 
for  dead  in  the  Five  Acres.  Ben  Pennington  was  bird- 
scarin’  close  hy,  and  he  see  the  accident  and  hollered  out, 
and  gave  the  alarm.  And  some  of  the  farm-men  came  and 
got  a hurdle,  and  put  Master  Tom  on  it,  and  carried  him 
up  to  the  house.  Master  see  ’em  coming,  and  ran  out,  and 
would  have  fell  down  when  he  see  who  it  was,  hut  they 
caught  hold  of  him ; and  they  say  he’s  like  a madman  now, 
and  Miss  Maude,  she  told  me  to  come  after  you.  Make 
haste,  sir,  please.  Hadn’t  you  better  jump  on  this  mare, 
sir  ? she’ll  carry  you  quicker  nor  that  cob  of  yourn,  and 
I’ll  drive  Miss  Ashurst  home.” 

“ Not  for  any  money,”  said  the  doctor  ; “ get  on  that 
horse,  indeed  ! There’d  he  another  accident,  and  no  one  to 
he  of  any  assistance.  I shall  he  up  at  the  house  in  a very 


A REMOVAL. 


129 


few  minutes;  ride  on  and  say  I’m  coming. — Lord,  my 
dear,  fancy  such,  an  interruption  to  our  conversation — such 
a bombshell  bursting  over  the  castle  we  were  building  in 
the  air ! ” 

“ The  doctor  wishes  to  speak  to  you,  miss,  outside 
master’s  door,”  said  Mrs.  Caddy,  in  that  hissing  whisper 
which  servants  always  assume  in  a house  of  sickness. 
“ He  didn’t  say  anything  about  Master  Tom,  but  his  face 
is  as  white  as  white,  and ” 

“ Thanks,  Mrs.  Caddy ; I’d  better  go  at  once ; ” and 
Marian  left  the  dining-room,  where  she  had  been  doing 
her  best  to  calm  her  mother’s  agitation,  which  expressed 
itself  in  sparse  tears,  and  head-shakings,  and  deep-drawn 
sighs,  and  flutterings  of  her  feeble  hands,  and  ascended 
the  stairs.  As  she  gained  the  landing,  the  little  doctor, 
who  had  evidently  been  on  the  watch,  came  out  of  a bed- 
room, shutting  the  door  cautiously  behind  him,  and 
hastening  to  her,  took  her  hand  and  led  her  into  the  recess 
of  a bay-window,  round  which  was  a luxurious  ottoman. 

When  they  had  seated  themselves,  Marian  broke 
silence. 

“You  have  examined  him,  doctor?  You  know  the 
worst  ? ” 

“ I say  nothing  about  the  worst,  my  dear,  as  I just  told 
our  old  friend  ; that  is  not  for  us  to  say.  Poor  boy  ! he  is 
in  a very  bad  way,  there’s  no  disguising  that.  It’s  a case 
of  fracture  of  the  skull,  with  compression  of  the  brain — a 
very  bad  case  indeed  ! ” 

“ Does  he  know  what  has  happened  ? Has  he  given 
any  explanation  of  the  accident  ? ” 

“ None.  Pie  is  insensible,  and  likely  to  remain  so  for 
some  time.  Now,  my  dear,  you’re  the  handiest  person  in 
the  house,  and  the  one  with  your  wits  most  about  you. 
This  poor  lad  will  have  to  be  trepanned — ah  ! you  don’t 
understand  what  that  is ; how  should  you? — I mean,  will 
have  to  be  operated  upon  before  he  gets  any  relief. 
Under  the  circumstances,  I don’t  choose  to  take  the  re- 

K 


130 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


sponsibility  of  that  operation  on  myself,  and,  with  Mr. 
Creswell’s  consent,  I’ve  telegraphed  to  London  for  one  of 
onr  first  surgeons  to  come  down  and  operate.  He  will 
bring  a professional  nurse  with  him,  but  they  cannot 
arrive  until  the  mail  at  two  in  the  morning,  and  as  I must 
go  down  to  the  surgery  for  two  or  three  little  matters,  and 
see  some  of  my  patients  tucked  up  for  the  night,  I intend 
leaving  you  in  charge  of  that  room.  You  have  nothing  to 
do  but  to  keep  everybody  else — except,  of  course,  Mr. 
Creswell — out  of  the  room.  You  must  not  be  frightened 
at  Tom’s  heavy  breathing,  or  any  little  restlessness  he  may 
show.  That’s  all  part  of  the  case.  Now,  my  child,  be 
brave,  and  so  good  night  for  the  present.” 

“ Good  night,  doctor.  Oh,  one  minute.  You  said  you 
had  telegraphed  for  a London  surgeon.  What  is  his 
name  ? ” 

“ What  on  earth  makes  you  ask  that,  you  inquisitive 
puss  ? ” said  the  old  gentleman,  with  a smile.  “ Have 
you  any  choice  among  London  surgeons?  His  name  is 
Godby — Godby  of  St.  Vitus ! ” 

Godby  of  St.  Vitus ! That  was  the  name.  She  re- 
membered it  at  once.  The  man  for  whom  Dr.  Osborne 
had  telegraphed  to  come  and  see  her  father,  or  rather 
would  have  sent  for,  but  for  the  amount  of  his  fee.  Good 
God,  what  a contrast  between  that  sick  room  and  this ! 
The  boy  had  been  carried  into  his  father’s  bedroom,  as 
nearer  and  larger  than  his  own;  and  as  Marian  looked 
around. on  every  side,  her  glance  fell  on  signs  of  comfort 
and  luxury.  The  room  was  very  large,  lit  by  a broad 
bay  window,  with  a splendid  view  of  the  surrounding 
country ; the  walls  were  hung  with  exquisite  proof-prints 
in  oaken  frames,  a table  in  the  centre  was  covered  with 
books  and  periodicals,  while  on  a smaller  table  close  by 
the  bed  was  a plate  piled  with  splendid  grapes.  The  bed 
itself,  with  fresh  bright  chintz  curtains  hanging  over  it, 
and  a rich  eider-down  quilt  thrown  on  it,  stood  in  a recess, 
and  on  it  lay  the  suffering  lad,  giving  no  sign  of  life  save 


A REMOVAL. 


131 


his  deep,  heavy,  stertorous  breathing,  and  occasional  rest- 
less motion  of  the  limbs.  How  vividly  the  other  room 
rose  to  her  memory ! She  saw  the  ugly  panelled  walls, 
with  the  cracking,  blistering  paint,  and  knew  the  very 
spots  from  which  it  had  been  worn  off.  She  saw  the 
old-fashioned,  lumbering  bedstead,  and  the  moreen  curtains 
tied  round  each  sculptured  post.  She  remembered  the 
roseate  flush  which  the  sunlight  shed  over  the  face  of  her 
dying  father,  the  hopeless  expression  which  remained 
there  when  the  light  had  faded  away.  It  was  money, 
only  money,  that  made  the  very  wide  difference  between 
the  two  cases,  and  money  could  do  anything.  Money  was 
fetching  this  clever  surgeon  from  London,  who  would 
probably  save  the  life  of  this  wretched  boy.  What  was 
the  value  of  a life  like  this  as  compared  to  her  father’s? 
But,  for  the  want  of  money,  that  sacred  life  had  been 
suffered  to  pass  away.  Thoughts  like  these  crowded  on 
her  brain,  and  worked  her  up  to  a pitch  of  feverish  excite- 
ment during  the  early  part  of  the  night.  She  had  plenty 
of  time  for  reflection,  for  she  had  become  accustomed  to 
the  regular  heavy  breathing  of  the  patient,  and  no  one 
entered  the  room  save  Mr.  Creswell,  who  would  sit  for  an 
hour  together  by  his  boy’s  bedside,  and  then,  watch  in 
hand,  get  up  and  murmur  piteously  : “ Will  the  night 
never  go  ! Will  the  man  never  come  ! ” 

“ The  man,”  Mr.  Godby,  principal  surgical  lecturer  and 
demonstrator  at  St.  Vitus’s  Hospital,  was  coming  as  fast 
as  the  mail-train  could  bring  him.  Unlike  most  of  his 
brethren,  he  was  essentially  a man  of  the  world,  fond  of 
studying  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  men,  and  with  all  his 
enormous  practice  finding  time  for  society,  theatres,  music, 
and  literature  of  all  kinds.  He  was  engaged  out  to 
dinner  that  day — to  a very  pleasant  little  dinner,  where  he 
was  to  have  met  the  private  secretary  of  a Cabinet  minis- 
ter, a newspaper  editor,  a portrait-painter,  a duke,  and  a 
clerk  in  an  insurance  office,  who  gave  wonderful  imitations. 
The  hostess  was  a French  actress,  and  the  cooking  would 
have  been  perfect.  So  Mr.  Godby  shook  his  head  very 


132 


WRECKED  IN  FORT. 


mournfully  over  tlie  Helmingham  telegram,  and  had  he 
not  held  his  old  friend  Osborne  in  great  respect,  and 
wished  to  do  him  a service,  he  would  have  refused  to  obey 
its  mandate.  As  it  was,  he  resigned  himself  to  his  fate, 
and  arrived,  chilled  to  the  bone,  but  bright-eyed  and 
ready-witted,  at  Woolgreaves  at  two  in  the  morning.  He 
shook  his  head  when  he  saw  the  patient,  and  expressed  to 
Hr.  Osborne  his  doubt  of  the  efficacy  of  trepanning,  but  he 
proposed  to  operate  at  once. 

“ It’s  all  over,  mother,”  said  Marian  to  Mrs.  Ashurst, 
the  next  morning.  “ Mr.  Godby  was  right ; poor  Tom 
never  rallied,  and  sank  at  seven  this  morning.” 

“ God  help  his  poor  father  ! ” said  the  old  lady,  through 
her  tears ; “ he  has  nothing  left  him  now.” 

“ Nothing  ! ” said  Marian ; then  added,  half  uncon- 
sciously— “ except  his  money  ! except  his  money  !” 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

LIFE  AT  WESTH0PE. 

“ Tea,  my  lady  ! ” 

“ Very  well.  Tell  Lady  Caroline Oh,  here  you 

are ! I was  just  sending  to  tell  you  that  tea  was  ready. 
I saw  you  come  in  from  your  ride  before  the  curtains 
were  drawn.” 

“Did  you?  Then  you  must  have  seen  a pretty 
draggletailed  spectacle.  I’ve  caked  my  habit  with  mud 
and  torn  it  into  shreds,  and  generally  distinguished  my- 
self.” 

“ Did  Mr.  Biscoe  blush  ? ” 

“ Not  a bit  of  it.  Mr.  Biscoe’s  a good  specimen  of  a 
hard-riding  parson,  and  seemed  to  like  me  the  better  the 
muddier  and  more  tom  I became.  By  the  way,  his 


LIFE  AT  WESTHOPE. 


133 


wife  is  coming  to  dinner,  isn’t  slie  ? so  I must  drop 
my  flirtation  with  the  rector,  and  he  on  my  best  be- 
haviour.” 

“ Caroline,  you  are  too  absurd ; the  idea  of  flirting 
with  a man  like  that ! ” 

“ Well,  then,  why  don’t  you  provide  some  one  better 
for  me?  I declare,  Margaret,  you  are  ignorant  of  the 
simplest  duties  of  hospitality!  I can’t  flirt  with  West, 
because  he’s  my  brother,  for  one  reason,  and  because  you 
mightn’t  like  it,  perhaps,  and  because  I mightn’t  care 
about  it  myself  much.  And  there’s  no  one  else  in  the 

house  who Oh,  by  the  way,  I’ll  speak  about  that  just 

now — who  else  is  coming  to  dinner?” 

“ Some  people  from  the  barracks — Colonel  Tapp,  and 
Mr.  Frampton,  the  man  who  hunted  through  all  those 
papers  the  other  day  to  find  the  paragraph  you  asked  him 
about,  don’t  you  know ; a Mr.  Boyd,  a good-looking  fair 
haired  boy,  with  an  eyeglass,  one  of  the  Boss- shire  Boyds, 
who  is  reading  somewhere  in  the  neighbourhood  with 
a tutor ; the  Biscoes,  the  Porters — people  who  live  at 
those  iron  gates  with  the  griffins  which  I showed  you;  and 
— I don’t  know — two  or  three  others.” 

“ Oh,  heavens,  what  a cheerful  prospect ! I hate  the 
army,  and  I detest  good-looking  boys  with  eyeglasses; 
and  I’ve  been  all  day  with  Mr.  Biscoe,  and  I don’t  know  the 
griffin  people,  nor  the  two  or  three  others.  Look  here, 
Margaret,  why  don’t  you  ask  Mr.  J oyce  to  dinner  ? ” 

“Mr.  Joyce?  I don’t  know Good  heavens,  Caro- 

line, you  don’t  mean  Lord  Hetherington’s  secretary  ? ” 

“I  do  indeed,  Margaret — why  shouldn’t  I?  He  is 
quite  nice  and  gentlemanly,  and  has  charming  eyes.” 

“ Caroline,  I wonder  at  your  talking  such  nonsense. 

You  ought  to  know  me  sufficiently ” 

“ And  you  ought  to  know  me  sufficiently  to  under- 
stand there’s  nothing  on  earth  I detest  like  being  bored.  I 
shall  be  bored  out  of  my  life  by  any  of  the  people  you  have 
mentioned,  while  I’m  sure  I should  find  some  amusement 
in  Mr.  Joyce.” 


134 


WRECKED  DT  PORT. 


“You  might  probably  find  a great  deal  of  amusement 
in  Norton,  the  steward,  or  in  William,  my  footman;  but 
you  would  scarcely  wish  me  to  ask  them  to  dinner  ? ” 

“ I think  not — not  in  William,  at  all  events.  There  is 
a dull  decorum  about  Mr.  Norton  which  one  might  find 
some  fun  in  bearing ” 

“ Caroline,  be  quiet ; you  are  unpayable . Are  you  really 
serious  in  what  you  say  about  Mr.  Joyce  ? ” 

“Perfectly — why  not?  I had  some  talk  with  him  in 
the  library  the  other  day,  and  found  him  most  agreeable.” 
“ Well,  then,  I will  send  and  say  we  expect  him  ; will 
that  satisfy  you  ? 

“ No,  certainly  not ! Seriously,  Margaret,  for  one 
minute.  You  know  that  I was  only  in  fun,  and  that  it 
cannot  matter  one  atom  to  me  whether  this  young  man  is 
asked  to  join  your  party  or  not.  Only,  if  you  do  ask  him, 
don’t  send.  You  know  the  sort  of  message  which  the 
footman  would  deliver,  no  matter  what  formula  had  been 
intrusted  to  him ; and  I should  be  very  sorry  to  think 
that  Mr.  Joyce,  or  any  other  gentleman,  should  be  caused 
a mortification  through  any  folly  of  mine.” 

“ Perhaps  you  think  I ought  to  go  to  him  and  offer 
him  a verbal  invitation  ? ” 

“ Certainly,  if  you  want  him  at  all — I mean,  if  you 
intend  asking  him  to  dinner.  You’ll  be  sure  to  find  him 
in  the  library.  Now,  Pm  dying  to  get  rid  of  this  soaked 
habit  and  this  clinging  skirt ! So  I’m  off  to  dress.” 

And  Lady  Caroline  [Mansergh  gave  her  sister-in-law 
a short  nod,  and  left  the  room. 

Left  alone,  Lady  Hetherington  took  a few  minutes  to 
recover  herself.  Her  sister-in-law  Caroline  had  always 
been  a spoiled  child,  and  accustomed  to  have  her  own 
way  in  the  old  home,  in  her  own  house  when  she 
married  Mr.  Mansergli — the  richest,  idlest,  kindest  old 
gentleman  that  ever  slept  in  St.  Stephen’s  first  and  in 
Glasnevin  Cemetery  scarcely  more  soundly  afterwards — 
and  generally  everywhere  since  she  had  lost  him.  But 
she  had  been  always  remarkable  for  particularly  sound 


LIFE  AT  WESTHOPE. 


135 


sense,  and  had  a manner  of  treating  objectionably  push- 
ing people  which  succeeded  in  keeping  them  at  a dis- 
tance better  even  than  the  frigid  hauteur  which  Lady 
Hetherington  indulged  in.  The  countess  knew  this,  and, 
acknowledging  it  in  her  inmost  heart,  felt  that  she  could 
make  no  great  mistake  in  acceding  to  her  sister-in-law’s 
wishes.  Moreover,  she  reflected,  after  all  it  was  a mere 
small  country-house  dinner  that  day ; there  was  no  one 
expected  about  whose  opinion  she  particularly  cared ; and 
as  the  man  was  domiciled  in  the  house,  was  useful  to  Lord 
Hetherington,  and  was  presentable,  it  was  only  right  to 
show  him  some  civility. 

So,  after  leaving  the  drawing-room  on  her  way  to  dress 
for  dinner,  Lady  Hetherington  crossed  the  hall  to  the 
library,  and  at  the  far  end  of  the  room  saw  Mr.  Joyce  at 
work,  under  a shaded  lamp.  She  went  straight  up  to 
him,  and  was  somewhat  amused  at  finding  that  he,  either 
not  hearing  her  entrance,  or  imagining  that  it  was  merely 
some  servant  with  a message,  never  raised  his  head,  but 
continued  grinding  away  at  his  manuscript. 

“ Mr.  Joyce ! ” said  her  ladyship,  slightly  bending  for- 
ward. 

“ Hey  ? ” replied  the  scribe,  in  whose  ear  the  tones, 
always  haughty  and  imperious,  however  she  might  try  to 
soften  them,  rang  like  a trumpet-call.  “I  beg  your  pardon, 
Lady  Pletherington,”  he  added,  rising  from  his  seat ; “ I 
had  no  idea  you  were  in  the  room.” 

“Don’t  disturb  yourself,  Mr.  Joyce;  I only  looked  in 
to  say  that  we  have  a few  friends  coming  to  dinner  to- 
night, and  it  will  afford  Lord  Hetherington  and  myself 
much  pleasure  if  you  will  join  us.” 

“ I shall  be  most  happy,”  said  Mr.  Joyce. 

And  then  Lady  Hetherington  returned  his  bow,  and 
he  preceded  her  down  the  room,  and  opened  the  door  to 
let  her  pass. 

“As  if  he’d  been  a squire  of  dames  from  his  cradle,” 
said  her  ladyship  to  herself.  “ The  man  has  good  hands, 
I noticed,  and  there  was  no  awkwardness  about  him.” 


136 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


“ What  does  this  mean?  ” said  Walter  Joyce,  when  he 
reached  his  own  room  and  was  dressing  for  dinner. 
“ These  people  have  been  more  civil  than  I could  have 
expected  them  to  be  to  a man  in  my  position,  and  Lord 
Hetherington  especially  has  been  kindness  itself;  but  they 
have  always  treated  me  as  what  I am- — ‘his  lordship’s 
secretary.’  Whence  this  new  recognition  ? One  comfort 
is  that,  thanks  to  old  Jack  Byrne’s  generosity,  I can  make 
a decent  appearance  at  their  table.  I laughed  when  he 
insisted  on  providing  me  with  dress-clothes,  but  he  knew 
better.  ‘ They  can’t  do  you  any  harm,  my  boy,”  I recol- 
lect his  saying,  ‘ and  they  may  do  you  some  good ; ’ and 
now  I see  how  right  he  was.  Fancy  my  going  into  society, 
and  beginning  at  this  phase  of  it ! I wonder  whether 
Marian  would  be  pleased  ? I wonder ” 

And  he  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  his  bed  and  fell  into 
a dreamy  abstracted  state ; the  ^effect  caused  by  Marian’s 
last  long  letter  was  upon  him  yet.  He  had  answered  it 
strongly — far  more  strongly  than  he  had  ever  written  to 
her  before  — pointing  out  that,  at  the  outset,  they  had 
never  imagined  that  life’s  path  was  to  be  made  smooth 
and  easy  to  them;  they  had  always  known  that  they 
would  have  to  struggle ; and  that  it  was  specially  unlike 
her  to  fold  her  hands  and  beg  for  the  unattainable,  simply 
because  she  saw  it  in  the  possession  of  other  people.  “ She 
dared  not  tell  him  how  little  hope  for  the  future  she  had.’’ 
That  was  a bad  sign  indeed.  In  their  last  parting  walk 
round  the  garden  of  the  old  schoolhouse  at  Helmingham 
she  had  hinted  something  of  this,  and  he  thought  he  had 
silenced  her  on  the  point ; but  her  want  of  hope,  her 
abnegation  of  interest,  was  now  much  more  pronounced ; 
and  against  such  a feeling  he  inveighed  with  all  the  strength 
and  power  of  his  honest  soul.  If  she  gave  in,  what  was 
to  become  of  him,  whose  present  discomforts  were  only 
made  bearable  by  anticipation  of  the  time  when  he  w^ould 
have  her  to  share  his  lot? 

“And  after  all,  Marian,”  he  had  said  in  conclusion, 
“ what  does  it  all  mean  ? This  money  for  which  you  wish 


LIFE  AT  WESTIIOPE. 


137 


so  much — I find  the  word  studding  every  few  lines  of 
your  letter — this  splendour,  luxury,  comfort — call  it  by 
what  name  you  will — what  does  it  all  mean  ? — who 
benefits  by  it?  Not  the  old  gentleman  who  has  passed 
his  life  in  slaving  for  the  acquisition  of  wealth  ! As  I 
understand  from  you,  his  wife  is  dead,  and  his  son  almost 
estranged  from  him.  Is  this  the  end  of  it  ? If  you  could 
see  his  inmost  heart,  is  he  not  pining  for  the  woman  who 
stood  by  his  side  during  the  conflict,  and  does  he  not  feel 
the  triumph  empty  and  hollow  without  her  to  share  it  with 
him?  Would  he  not  sooner  have  his  son’s  love  and  trust 
and  confidence  than  the  conservatory  and  the  carriages  and 
the  splendour  on  which  you  dwell  so  rapturously  ? If  you 
could  know  all,  you  would  learn  that  the  happiest  time  of 
his  life  was  when  he  was  striving  in  company  with  her  he 
loved,  and  that  the  end  now  attained,  however  grand  it  may 
be,  however  above  his  original  anticipations,  is  but  poor 
and  vain  now  she  is  not  there  to  share  it  with  him.  Oh, 
Marian,  my  heart’s  darling,  think  of  this,  and  be  assured 
of  its  truth  ! So  long  as  we  love  each  other,  so  long  as 
the  sincerity  of  that  love  gives  us  confidence  in  each 
other,  all  will  be  well,  and  it  will  be  impossible  to  shut 
out  hope.  It  is  only  when  a shadow  crosses  that  love — a 
catastrophe  which  seems  impossible,  but  which  we  should 
pray  God  to  avert — that  hope  can  in  the  smallest  degree 
diminish.  Marian,  my  love,  my  life,  think  of  this  as  I 
place  it  before  you  ! We  are  both  young,  both  gifted 
with  health  and  strength  and  powers  of  endurance.  If  we 
fight  the  battle  side  by  side,  if  we  are  not  led  away  by 
envy  and  induced  to  fix  the  standard  of  our  desires  too 
high,  we  shall,  we  must  succeed  in  attaining  what  we 
have  so  often  hopefully  discussed — the  happiness  of  being 
all  in  all  to  each  other,  and  leading  our  lives  together,  ‘ for 
better  for  worse,  for  richer  for  poorer,  in  sickness  and  in 
health,  till  death  do  us  part.’  I confess  I can  imagine  no 
greater  bliss — can  you  ? ” 

He  had  had  no  answer  to  this  letter,  but  that  had  not 
troubled  him  much.  He  knew  that  Marian  was  not  fond 


138 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


of  correspondence,  that  in  her  last  letter  she  had  given  a 
full  account  of  her  new  life,  and  that  she  could  have  but 
little  to  say ; and  he  was  further  aware  that  a certain 
feeling  of  pride  would  prevent  her  from  too  readily  in- 
dorsing his  comments  on  her  views.  That  she  agreed  with 
those  comments,  or  that  they  would  commend  themselves 
to  her  natural  sound  sense  on  reflection,  he  had  no  doubt ; 
and  he  was  content  to  await  calmly  the  issue  of  events. 

The  party  assembled  were  waiting  the  announcement 
of  dinner  in  the  library,  and  when  Joyce  entered  the 
room  Lord  Hetherington  left  the  rug  where  he  had  been 
standing  with  two  other  gentlemen,  and,  advancing 
towards  his  secretary,  took  his  hand  and  said — 

“I  am  glad  her  ladyship  has  persuaded  you  to  come 
out  of  seclusion,  Mr.  Joyce.  Too  much — what  is  it? — 
books,  and  work,  and  that  kind  of  thing,  is — is — the 
deuce,  in  point  of  fact ! ” And  then  his  lordship  went 
back  to  the  rug,  and  Joyce  having  received  a sufficiently 
distant  bow  from  Lady  Hetherington,  retreated  into  a 
darkish  corner  of  the  room,  into  which  the  flickering  fire- 
light did  not  penetrate,  and  glanced  around  him. 

Lady  Hetherington  looked  splendidly  handsome,  he 
thought.  She  was  dressed  in  maroon-coloured  velvet,  the 
hues  of  which  lit  up  wonderfully  in  the  firelight,  and 
showed  her  classically  shaped  head  and  head-dress  of 
velvet  and  black  lace.  Joyce  had  read  much  of  Juno- 
looking  women,  but  he  had  never  realised  the  idea  until 
he  gazed  upon  that  calm,  majestic,  imperious  face,  so 
clearly  cold  in  outline,  those  large,  solemnly  radiant  eyes, 
that  splendidly  moulded  figure.  The  man  who  was 
bending  over  her  chair  as  he  addressed  her — not  deferen- 
tially, as  Joyce  felt  that  (not  from  her  rank,  but  rather 
her  splendid  beauty)  she  should  be  addressed ; on  the 
contrary,  rather  flippantly — had  a palpable  curly  wig, 
shaved  cheeks,  waxed  moustache,  and  small  white  hands, 
which  he  rubbed  gently  together  in  front  of  him.  He  was 
Colonel  Tapp,  a Crimean  hero,  a very  Paladin  in  war,  but 
who  had  been  worn  by  time,  not  into  slovenry,  but  into 


LIFE  AT  WESTHOPE. 


139 


coxcombry.  Mr.  Biscoe,  the  rector  of  the  parish — a big, 
broad-shouldered,  bull-headed  man,  with  clean-cut  features, 
wholesome  complexion,  and  breezy  whiskers : excellent 
parson  as  well  as  good  cross-country  man,  and  as  kind  of 
heart  as  keen  at  sport — stood  by  her  ladyship’s  side,  and 
threw  an  occasional  remark  into  the  conversation.  Joyce 
could  not  see  Lady  Caroline  Mansergh,  but  he  heard  her 
voice  coming  from  a recess  in  the  far  side  of  the  fireplace, 
and  mingled  with  its  bright,  ringing  Irish  accent  came  the 
deep  growling  bass  of  Captain  Frampton,  adjutant  of  the 
depot  battalion,  and  a noted  amateur  singer.  The  two 
gentlemen  chatting  with  Lord  Iletherington  on  the  rug 
were  magnates  of  the  neighbourhood,  representatives  of 
county  families  centuries  old.  Mr.  Boyd,  a very  good- 
looking  young  gentleman,  with  crisp  wavy  hair  and  pink- 
and-white  complexion,  was  staring  hard  at  nothing  through 
his  eyeglass,  and  wondering  whether  he  could  fasten  one 
of  his  studs,  which  had  come  undone,  without  any  one 
noticing  him ; and  Mr.  Biscoe  was  in  conversation  with 
a foxy-looking  gentleman  with  sunken  eyes,  sharp  nose, 
and  keen,  gleaming  teeth,  in  whom  Joyce  recognised  Mr. 
Gould,  Lord  Hetherington’s  London  agent,  who  was  in  the 
habit  of  frequently  running  down  on  business  matters,  and 
whose  room  was  always  kept  ready  for  him. 

Dinner  announced  and  general  movement  of  the 
company.  At  the  table  Joyce  found  himself  seated  by 
Lady  Caroline  Mansergh,  her  neighbour  on  the  other  side 
being  Captain  Frampton.  After  bowing  and  smiling  at 
Mr.  Joyce,  Lady  Caroline  said — 

“ Now,  Captain  Frampton,  continue,  if  you  please  ! ” 

“ Let  me  see ! ” said  the  captain,  a good  soldier  and  a 
good  singer,  but  not  burdened  with  more  brains  than  are 
necessary  for  these  professions — “let  me  see!  Gad — 

’shamed  to  say,  Lady  Car’line,  forgot  what  we  were  talk- 
in’ of ! ” 

“ Mr.  Chennery — you  remember  now  ? ” 

“ Yas,  yas,  course,  thousand  pardons ! Well,  several 
people  who  heard  him  at  Carabas  House  think  him 
wonderful.” 


140 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


“ A tenor,  you  say  ? ” 

“Pure  tenor,  one  of  the  richest,  purest  tenor  voices 
ever  heard ! Man’s  fortune’s  made — if  he  only  behaves 
himself ! ” 

“ How  do  you  mean,  e behaves  himself,’  Captain 
Frampton  ? ” asked  Lady  Caroline,  raising  her  eyebrows. 

“ Well,  I mean  sassiety,  and  all  that  kind  of  thing, 
Lady  Caroline ! Man  not  accustomed  to  sassiety  might,  as 
they  say,  put  his  foot  in  it ! ” 

“ I see,”  said  Lady  Caroline,  with  an  assumption  of 
gravity.  “ Exactly  ! and  that  would  indeed  be  dreadful. 
But  is  this  gentleman  not  accustomed  to  society  ? ” 

“ Not  in  the  least ; and  in  point  of  fact  not  a gentle- 
man, so  far  as  I’m  led  to  understand.  Father’s  a shepherd ; 
outdoor  labouring  something  down  at  Lord  Westonhanger’s 
place  in  Wiltshire ; boy  was  apprenticed  to  a stonemason, 
but  people  staying  at  the  house  heard  of  his  singing,  sent 
for  him,  and  Lord  Westonhanger  was  so  charmed  with  his 
voice,  had  him  sent  to  Italy  and  taught.  That’s  the 
story ! ” 

“ Surely  one  that  reflects  great  credit  on  all  concerned,” 
said  Lady  Caroline.  “ But  I yet  fail  to  see  why  Mr. 
Chennery  should  not  behave  himself ! ” 

“ Well,  you  see,  Lady  Caroline,  Carabas  House,  and 
that  sort  of  thing — people  he’ll  meet  there,  you  know, 
different  from  anything  he’s  ever  seen  before.” 

“ But  he  can  but  be  a gentleman,  Captain  Frampton. 
If  he  were  a prince,  he  could  be  no  more ! ” 

“ No,  exactly,  course  not ; but  pardon  me,  that’s  just  it, 
don’t  you  see,  the  difficulty  is  for  the  man  to  be  a gentle- 
man.” 

“Not  at  all ; not  the  slightest  difficulty  ! ” And  here 
Lady  Caroline  almost  imperceptibly  turned  a little  towards 
Joyce.  “ If  Mr.  Chennery  is  thrown  into  different  society 
from  that  to  which  he  has  been  hitherto  accustomed,  and  is 
•at  all  nervous  about  his  reception  or  his  conduct  in  it,  he 
has  merely  to  be  natural  and  just  as  he  always  has  been, 
to  avoid  any  affectation,  and  he  cannot  fail  to  please.  The 


LIFE  AT  WEST  HOPE. 


141’ 


art  which  he  possesses,  and  the  education  he  has  received, 
are  humanising  influences,  and  he  certainly  contributes 
more  than  the  average  quota  towards  the  enjoyment  of 
what  people  call  society 

Whether  Captain  Frampton  was  unconvinced  by  the 
argument,  whether  he  found  a difficulty  in  pursuing  it,  or 
whether  he  had  by  this  time  realised  the  fact  that  the  soup 
was  of  superior  quality,  and  worth  paying  attention  to,  are 
moot  points ; at  all  events,  the  one  thing  certain  was,  that 
he  bowed  and  slightly  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  relapsed 
into  silence,  while  Lady  Caroline,  with  a half  smile  of 
victory,  which  somehow  seemed  to  include  Walter  Joyce 
in  its  expanding  ripple,  replied  across  the  table  to  a polite 
query  of  Mr.  Biscoe’s  in  reference  to  their  recent 
ride. 

She  certainly  was  very  beautiful ! Joyce  had  thought 
so  before,  as  he  had  caught  transient  glimpses  of  her 
flitting  about  the  house ; but  now  that  he  had,  unnoticed 
and  unseen,  the  opportunity  of  quietly  studying  her,  he 
was  astonished  at  her  beauty.  Her  face  was  very  pale, 
with  an  impertinent  little  nose,  and  deep-violet  eyes,  and 
a small  rosebud  of  a mouth ; but  perhaps  her  greatest 
charm  lay  in  her  hair,  which  lay  in  heavy  thick  chestnut 
clumps  over  her  white  forehead.  Across  it  she  wore  the 
daintiest  bit  of  precious  lace,  white  lace,  the  merest  apology 
for  a cap,  two  long  lappels  pinned  together  by  a diamond 
brooch,  while  the  huge  full  clump  at  the  back,  unmis- 
takably real,  was  studded  with  small  diamond  stars.  She 
was  dressed  in  a blue-satin  gown,  set  off  with  a profusion  of 
white  lace,  and  on  her  arm  she  wore  a large  heavy  gold 
bracelet.  Walter  Joyce  found  himself  gazing  at  her  in  an 
odd  indescribable  way.  He  had  never  seen  anything  like 
her,  never  realised  such  a combination  of  beauty,  set  off  by 
the  advantages  of  dress  and  surroundings.  Her  voice  too, 
so  bright  and  clear  and  ringing,  and  her  manner  to  him — 
to  him?  Was  it  not  to  him  that  she  had  really  addressed 
these  words  of  advice,  although  they  were  surely  said  in 
apparent  reply  to  Captain  Frampton’s  comments  ? If  that 


142 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


were  so,  it  was  indeed  kind  of  Lady  Caroline,  true  noble- 
hearted  kindness  : lie  must  write  and  tell  Marian  of  it. 

He  was  thinking  of  this,  and  had  in  his  mind  a picture, 
confused  indeed,  but  full  of  small  details  which  had  a 
strange  interest  for  him,  and  a vivid  sadness  too,  of  the 
contrast  between  the  scene  of  which  he  formed  at  this 
moment  a part,  and  those  familiar  to  himself  and  to 
Marian.  He  was  thinking  of  the  homely  simple  life  of 
the  village,  of  the  dear  dead  friend,  so  much  a better  man, 
so  much  a truer  gentleman  than  any  of  these  people,  who 
were  of  so  much  importance  in  a world  where  he  had  been 
of  so  little ; of  the  old  house,  the  familiar  routine  of  life, 
not  wearisome  with  all  its  sameness,  the  sweetness  of  his 
first  love.  He  was  thinking  of  the  splendour,  the  ener- 
vating bewildering  luxury  of  his  present  surroundings, 
among  which  he  sat  so  strange,  so  solitary,  save  for  the  subtle 
reassuring  influence,  the  strange,  unaccountable  support  and 
something  like  companionship  in  the  tones  of  that  fair  and 
gracious  lady’s  voice,  in  the  light  of  her  swift  flitting 
smile,  in  which  he  thought  he  read  an  admission  that  the 
company  was  little  more  to  her  taste  than  to  his,  had  as 
little  in  common  with  her  intellectual  calibre  as  with  his. 
He  could  not  have  told  how  she  conveyed  this  impression 
to  him,  if  he  had  tried  to  explain  his  feelings  to  any  third 
person ; he  could  not  explain  it  to  himself,  when  he  thought 
over  the  events  of  the  evening,  alone  in  his  room,  which 
was  a dingy  apartment  when  compared  with  the  rest  of 
the  house,  but  far  better  than  any  which  had  ever  called 
him  master ; but  there  it  was,  strong  and  strangely  attrac- 
tive, mingling  with  the  sights  and  sounds  around  him,  and 
with  the  dull  dead  pain  at  his  heart  which  had  been  caused 
by  Marian’s  letter,  and  which  he  had  never  quite  suc- 
ceeded in  conquering.  There  were  unshed  but  not  unseen 
tears  in  his  eyes,  and  a slight  tremulous  motion  in  his  lips, 
which  one  pair  of  eyes  at  the  table,  quick  with  all  their 
languor,  keen  with  all  their  disdainful  slowness,  did  not 
fail  to  see.  The  owner  of  those  beautiful  eyes  did  not 
quite  understand,  could  not  “ fathom  ” the  meaning  of 


LIFE  AT  WESTHOPE. 


143 


the  sudden  glitter  in  his — “ idle  tears,”  indeed,  on 
such  an  occasion,  and  in  such  company! — hut,  with  the 
fine  unfailing  instinct  of  a coquette,  she  discerned,  more 
clearly  than  Walter  Joyce  himself  had  felt  it,  that  she 
counted  for  something  in  the  origin  and  meaning  of  those 
unshed  tears  and  of  that  nervous  twitching. 

Lady  Caroline  had  just  removed  her  eyes  with  well- 
feigned  carelessness  from  Walter’s  face,  after  a covert 
glance,  apparently  casual,  hut  in  reality  searching,  in  order 
to  effect  which  she  had  leaned  forward  and  plucked  some 
geranium-leaves  from  a bouquet  near  her  on  the  table ; 
and  Walter  was  removing  himself  still  farther  from  the 
scene  around,  into  the  land  of  reverie,  when  a name 
spoken  by  Mr.  Gould,  and  making  an  odd  accidental 
harmony  with  his  thoughts,  fixed  his  wandering  atten- 
tion. 

“ What  sort  of  weather  had  you  in  Hampshire?”  asked 
Lord  Hetherington,  in  one  of  those  irksome  pauses  usually 
selected  by  some  individual  who  is  at  once  commonplace 
and  good-natured  enough  to  distinguish  himself  by 
uttering  an  inane  sentiment,  or  asking  an  awkward  ques- 
tion. 

“ Awful,  I should  fancjq”  said  Lady  Hetherington,  in 
the  most  languid  of  her  languid  tones.  “ Awful,  if  it  has 
been  like  the  weather  here.  Were  you  really  obliged  to 
travel,  Mr.  Gould  ? I can’t  fancy  any  one  going  anywhere 
in  such  weather.” 

“As  it  happened,”  said  Mr.  Gould,  with  a rather 
impatient  glance  towards  her  ladyship — for  he  could  not 
always  smile  complacently  when  she  manifested  her 
normal  unconsciousness  that  anybody  could  have  anything 
to  do  not  entirely  dependent  on  his  or  her  own  pleasure 
and  convenience — “ as  it  happened,  I had  not  to  go.  A 
few  days  after  I told  his  lordship  the  particulars  of  the 
sale  of  land,  I had  a letter  informing  me  that  the  matter 
was  all  off  for  the  present.” 

“ Indeed  ! ” said  Lord  Hetherington  ; “ a doosed  bore 
for  Langley,  isn’t  it?  He  has  been  wanting  to  pick  up 


144 


WRECKED  IN  TORT. 


something  in  that  neighbourhood  for  a long  time.  But 
the  sale  will  ultimately  come  off,  I suppose,  unless  some 
one  buys  the  land  over  Langley’s  head  by  private  con- 
tract.” 

“ There’s  no  fear  of  that,  I think,”  said  Mr.  Gould ; 
“ but  I took  precautions.  I should  not  like  Sir  John  to 
lose  the  slice  off  Wool  greaves  he  wants.  The  place  is  in  a 
famous  hunting  country,  and  the  plans  are  settled  upon — 
like  Sir  John,  isn’t  it  ? — for  his  hunting-box.” 

“ I don’t  know  that  part  of  Hampshire  at  all,”  said 
Lord  Hetherington,  delighted  at  finding  a subject  on 
which  he  could  induce  one  of  his  guests  to  talk  without 
his  being  particularly  bound  to  listen.  “ Very  rich  and 
rural,  isn’t  it  ? Why  didn’t  the — ah,  the  person  sell  the 
land  Langley  wanted  there  ? ” 

“For  rather  a melancholy  reason,”  replied  Mr.  Gould, 
while  Lady  Hetherington  and  the  others  looked  bored  by 
anticipation.  Bather  inconsiderate  and  bad  taste  of  Mr. 
Gould  to  talk  about  “ melancholy  reasons  ” in  a society 
which  only  his  presence  and  that  of  the  secretary  rendered 
at  all  “ mixed.”  But  Mr.  Gould,  who  was  rather  full  of 
the  subject,  and  who  had  the  characteristic — so  excellent 
in  a man  of  business  in  business  hours,  but  a little  tiresome 
in  social  moments — of  believing  that  nothing  could  equal 
in  interest  his  clients’  affairs,  or  in  importance  his  clients 
themselves,  went  on,  quite  regardless  of  the  strong  apathy 
in  the  face  of  the  countess.  “ The  letter  which  prevented 
my  going  down  to  Wool  greaves  on  the  appointed  day  was 
written  by  a lady  residing  in  the  house,  to  inform  me  that 
the  owner  of  the  property,  a Mr.  Creswell,  very  well 
known  in  those  parts,  had  lost  his  only  son,  and  was 
totally  unfit  to  attend  to  any  business.  The  boy  was 
killed,  I understand,  by  a fall  from  his  pony.” 

“ Tom  Creswell  killed ! ” exclaimed  Walter  Joyce,  in  a 
tone  which  directed  the  attention  of  every  one  at  the  table 
to  the  “ secretary.” 

“ I beg  your  pardon,”  Joyce  went  on,  “ but  will  you 
kindly  tell  me  all  you  know  of  this  matter  ? I know  Mr. 


LIFE  AT  WESTHOPE. 


145 


Creswell,  and  I knew  this  boy  well.  Are  you  sure  of  the 
fact  of  his  death  ? ” 

The  paleness  of  Walter’s  face,  the  intensity  of  his  tone, 
held  Lady  Caroline’s  attention  fixed  upon  him.  How 
handsome  he  was ! and  the  man  could  evidently  feel  too  ! 
How  nice  it  would  be  to  make  him  feel,  to  see  the  face 
pale,  and  to  hear  the  voice  deepen,  like  that,  for  her  ! It 
would  be  quite  new . She  had  any  amount  of  flirtation 
always  at  hand,  whenever  she  chose  to  summon  its  aid  in 
passing  the  time ; but  feeling  did  not  come  at  call,  and 
she  had  never  had  much  of  that  given  her.  These  were 
the  thoughts  of  only  a moment,  flashing  through  her  mind 
before  Mr.  Gould  had  time  to  answer  Joyce’s  appeal. 

“ I am  sorry  I mentioned  the  fact  at  so  inappropriate  a 
time,”  said  Mr.  Gould,  “ but  still  more  sorry  that  there  is 
no  doubt  whatever  of  its  truth.  Indeed,  I think  I can 
show  you  the  letter.”  Mr.  Gould  wore  a dress-coat,  of 
course,  but  he  could  not  have  dined  comfortably  if  he 
had  not  transferred  a mass  of  papers  from  his  morning- 
coat  to  its  pockets.  This  mass  he  extricated  with  some 
difficulty,  and  selecting  one,  methodically  indorsed  with 
the  date  of  its  receipt,  from  the  number,  he  handed  it  to 
Walter. 

’^.Lady  Hetherington  was  naturally  shocked  at  the 
infringement  of  the  hien-seances  caused  by  this  unfortunate 
incident,  and  was  glancing  from  Mr.  Gould  to  Mr.  Joyoe — 
from  one  element  of  the  “ mixture  ” in  the  assembled 
society  to  the  other,  with  no  pleasant  expression  of  counte- 
nance— when  Lady  Caroline  came  to  the  rescue,  with 
gracefulness,  deftness,  lightness  all  her  own,  and  by  start- 
ing an  easy  unembarrassed  conversation  with  the  gentle- 
man opposite  to  her,  in  which  she  skilfully  included  her 
immediate  neighbours,  she  dissipated  all  the  restraints 
which  had  temporarily  fallen  upon  the  party.  Something 
interesting  to  the  elevated  minds  of  the  party,  something- 
different  from  the  unpleasantness  of  a boy  being  killed 
whom  nobody  knew  anything  about,  at  a place  which  did 
not  belong  to  anybody, — and  the  character  of  the 

L 


146 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


dinner-party,  momentarily  threatened,  was  triumphantly 
retrieved. 

Walter  saw  that  the  letter  which  Mr.  Gould  handed 
him  was  in  Marian’s  writing.  It  contained  an  announce- 
ment of  the  calamity  which  had  occurred,  and  an  intima- 
tion that  Mr.  Creswell  could  not  attend  to  any  matters  of 
business  at  present.  That  was  all.  Walter  read  the  brief 
letter  with  sincere  concern,  commiseration  for  the  childless 
rich  man,  and  also  with  the  thrill,  half  of  curiosity,  half 
of  painless  jealousy,  with  which  one  regards  the  familiar 
and  beloved  handwriting,  when  addressed,  however 
formally,  to  another.  He  returned  the  letter  to  Mr. 
Gould,  with  a simple  expression  of  thanks,  and  sat  silent. 
No  one  noticed  him.  Every  one  had  forgotten  the  dismal 
occurrence  about  somebody  whom  nobody  knew,  down  in 
some  place  that  did  not  belong  to  anybody.  He  had  time 
to  think  unquestioned. 

“ I wonder  she  has  not  written  to  me.  The  accident 
occurred  four  days  ago,”  he  thought.  “ I suppose  she  has 
too  much  to  do  for  them  all.  God  bless  her,  she  will  be 
their  best  comfort.” 

Though  unversed  in  the  minor  arts  and  smaller  tactics 
of  society,  Walter  was  not  so  dull  or  awkward  as  to  be 
ignorant  of  the  skill  and  kindness  with  which  Lady 
Caroline  had  acted  on  his  behalf.  When  the  ladies  were 
to  leave  the  room,  as  she  passed  him,  their  eyes  met,  and 
each  looked  at  the  other  steadily.  In  her  glance  there  was 
undisguised  interest,  in  his — gratitude. 


( 1^7  ) 


CHAPTER  XIY. 

LADY  CAROLINE. 

The  Lady  Caroline  liked  late  Lours.  She  was  of  a restless 
temperament,  and  hated  solitude,  though  she  was  also 
intolerant  of  anything  like  dulness  in  her  associates,  and 
had  sufficient  taste  for  the  accomplishments  which  she  pos- 
sessed to  render  her  independent  of  society.  Nevertheless 
she  underwent  an  immense  deal  of  boredom  rather  than  be 
alone,  and  whenever  she  found  herself  in  a country  house, 
she  set  to  work  to  form  a coterie  of  late  sitters,  in  order  to 
avoid  the  early  hours  which  were  her  abhorrence.  She 
was  not  an  empty-headed  woman — far  from  it.  She  had 
a good  deal  more  knowledge  than  most  women  of  her  class, 
and  a great  deal  of  appreciation,  some  native  humour,  and 
much  of  the  kind  of  tact  and  knowledge  of  society  which 
require  the  possession  and  the  exercise  of  brains.  Nobody 
would  have  pronounced  her  stupid,  but  every  one  agreed 
that  she  was  supercilious  and  superficial.  The  truth  was 
that  she  was  empty-hearted,  and  where  that  void  exists, 
no  qualities  of  head  will  fill  it ; and  even  those  who  do  not 
know  what  it  is  they  miss  in  the  individual  are  impressed 
by  the  effect  of  the  deficiency.  The  Lady  Caroline  loved 
no  one  in  the  world  except  herself,  and  sometimes  she  took 
that  solitary  object  of  affection  in  disgust,  which,  if 
transient,  was  deep.  She  had  arrived  at  Westhope  in  one 
of  those  passing  fits  of  enntii,  mingled  with  impatience  and 
disgust  of  herself  and  irritation  with  everybody  around 
her.  She  never  at  any  time  liked  Westhope  particularly, 
and  her  brother  and  his  wife  had  no  more  interest  for  her, 
no  more  share  in  her  affections,  than  any  other  dull  lord 
and  lady  among  the  number  of  dull  lords  and  ladies  with 
whom  she  was  acquainted.  Her  brother  loved  her  rather 
more  than  other  people  loved  her,  and  Lady  Hetherington 
and  she,  though  they  u got  on  ” charmingly,  knew  perfectly 


148 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


well  that  the  very  tepid  regard  which  they  entertained  for 
each  other  had  nothing  in  it  resembling  sympathy  or 
companionship. 

When  the  Lady  Caroline  retired  to  her  own  rooms  after 
the  dinner-party  at  which  Walter  Joyce  had  learned  the 
news  from  Woolgreaves,  she  was  no  more  inclined  than 
usual  to  try  the  efficacy  of  a “ beauty  ” sleep  ; but  she  was 
much  less  inclined  to  grumble  at  the  dulness  of  Westhope, 
to  wish  the  countess  could  contrive  to  have  another  woman 
or  two  whom  she  might  talk  to  of  an  evening,  and  who 
would  not  want  such  a lot  of  sleep  to  be  resorted  to  so 
absurdly  early,  and  to  scold  her  maid,  than  usual.  The 
maid  perceived  the  felicitous  alteration  in  her  ladyship’s 
mood  immediately.  It  made  an  important  difference  to 
her.  Lady  Caroline  allowed  her  to  remove  all  her 
ornaments  and  to  brush  her  hair  without  finding  fault  with 
her,  and  surprised  the  patient  Abigail,  who  must  have 
had  it  “ made  very  well  worth  her  while  ” to  endure  the 
fatigues  of  her  office,  by  telling  her  she  should  not  require 
her  any  longer,  and  that  she  was  sure  she  must  be  tired. 
Left  to  herself,  the  Lady  Caroline  did  not  feel  so  impatient 
of  her  solitude  as  usual,  but  fell  into  a reverie  which 
occupied  her  mind  completely.  We  have  seen  this  nobly 
born,  and  in  some  respects  (chiefly  external)  highly  gifted, 
woman  as  she  appeared  among  her  brother’s  guests. 
While  she  sat  by  the  fire  in  her  dressing-room — with 
which  she  never  dispensed,  at  any  season,  in  “ the  odious 
English  climate,”  as  she  was  wont  to  call  it — let  us  look 
into  her  life  and  see  her  as  she  really  was. 

Lady  Caroline  Mansergh  had  married,  or  rather,  her 
mother  had  married  her  to,  a gentleman  of  considerable 
importance,  wealth,  and  more  than  mature  years,  when 
she  was  just  seventeen.  Very  fair  and  very  sweet  seven- 
teen, whom  it  had  been  somewhat  difficult  to  convince  of 
the  delights  and  advantages  of  being  “ an  old  man’s 
darling.”  But  Lady  Hetherington  had  not  accustomed 
her  children  to  gentle  or  affectionate  treatment,  or  to 
having  their  inclinations  consulted  in  any  way.  She  no 


LADY  CAROLINE. 


149 


more  recognised  Lady  Caroline’s  right  to  choose  her  own 
husband  than  she  would  have  consulted  her  taste  in  her 
babyhood  about  her  own  sashes ; and  the  girl’s  feeble 
attempt  at  remonstrance  in  opposition  to  the  solid  advan- 
tages of  the  proposals  made  by  Mr.  Mansergh  did  not  pro- 
duce the  least  effect  at  the  time.  Her  ladyship  carried 
her  point  triumphantly,  and  the  girl  found  her  fate  more 
endurable,  on  the  whole,  than  she  had  expected.  But  she 
never  forgave  her  mother,  and  that  was  rather  odd,  though 
not,  when  looked  into,  very  unreasonable ; Mr.  Mansergh 
never  forgave  her  either.  The  countess  had  accomplished 
his  wishes  for  him,  the  countess  had  bestowed  upon  him 
the  wife  he  coveted,  but  she  had  deceived  him,  and  when 
he  won  his  wife’s  confidence  he  found  her  mother  out.  He 
had  not  fyeen  so  foolish  as  to  think  the  girl  loved  him,  but 
he  had  believed  she  was  willing  to  become  his  wife — he 
had  never  had  a suspicion  of  the  domestic  scenes  which 
had  preceded  that  pretty  tableau  vivant  at  St.  George’s, 
Hanover  Square,  in  which  every  emotion  proper  to  the 
occasion  had  been  represented  to  perfection.  Fortunately 
for  Lady  Caroline,  her  elderly  husband  was  a perfect 
gentleman,  and  treated  her  with  indulgence,  considera- 
tion, and  respect,  which  appealed  successfully  to  her  feel- 
ings, and  were  rewarded  by  a degree  of  confidence  on  her 
part,  which  insured  her  safety  and  his  peace  in  the 
hazardous  experiment  of  their  unequal  marriage.  She 
told  him  frankly  all  about  herself,  her  tastes,  her  feelings 
— the  estrangement,  almost  amounting  to  dislike,  which 
existed  between  herself  and  her  mother — the  attempt  she 
had  made  to  avoid  her  marriage ; in  short,  the  whole 
story  of  her  brief  life,  in  which  there  had  been  much  to 
deplore.  Mr.  Mansergh  possessed  much  firmness  of  cha- 
racter and  good  sense,  which,  though  it  had  not  preserved 
him  from  the  folly  of  marrying  a girl  young  enough  to  be 
his  daughter,  came  to  his  aid  in  making  the  best  (and 
that  much  better  than  could  have  been  expected)  of  the 
perilous  position.  Lady  Caroline  did  not,  indeed,  learn  to 
love  her  husband  in  the  sense  in  which  alone  any  woman 


150 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


can  be  justified  in  becoming  the  wife  of  any  man,  but  sbe 
liked  bim  better  than  sbe  liked  any  one  in  tbe  world,  and 
sbe  regarded  bim  with  real  and  active  respect,  a sentiment 
wbicb  sbe  bad  never  entertained  previously  for  any  one. 
Thus  it  fell  out — contrary  to  tbe  expectations  of  “ society,” 
wbicb  would  bave  acted  in  tbe  aggregate  precisely  as 
Lady  Hetberington  bad  done,  but  wbicb  would  also  bave 
congratulated  itself  on  its  discernment,  and  exulted  bugely 
bad  tbe  matrimonial  speculation  turned  out  a failure— 
that  Lady  Caroline  Mansergb  was  happy  and  respectable. 
Sbe  never  gave  cause  for  tbe  smallest  scandal ; sbe  was 
constantly  with  her  husband,  and  was  so  naturally  un- 
affectedly cheerful  and  content  in  his  company,  that  not 
tbe  most  censorious  observer  could  discover  that  be  was 
used  as  a shield  or  a pretence.  There  was  a perfectly  good 
understanding  between  Mr.  Mansergb  and  bis  young  wife 
on  all  points ; but  if  there  was  more  complete  accord  on 
one  in  particular  than  on  others,  it  was  in  keeping  tbe 
countess  at  a distance.  The  manoeuvring  mother  profited 
little  by  the  success  of  her  scheme.  To  be  sure  sbe  got 
rid  of  her  daughter  at  tbe  comparatively  trifling  expense 
of  a splendid  trousseau , and  tbe  unconsidered  risk  of-  tbe 
welfare  and  tbe  reputation  of  tbe  daughter  in  question, 
and  sbe  bad  the  advantage  over  tbe  majority  of  her  friends 
of  having  married  her  advantageously  in  her  first  season. 
But  tbe  profit  of  tbe  transaction  terminated  there.  In 
her  daughter’s  bouse  Lady  Hetberington  remained  on  the 
same  ceremonious  footing  as  any  other  visiting  acquaint- 
ance, and  every  attempt  sbe  made  either  to  interfere  or 
advise  was  met  by  a polite  and  resolute  coldness,  against 
the  silent  obstinacy  of  wbicb  she  would  bave  striven  un- 
successfully bad  sbe  not  been  much  too  wise  to  strive  at 
all.  If  tbe  barrier  bad  been  reared  by  Lady  Caroline’s 
bands  alone,  though  they  were  no  longer  feeble,  tbe 
countess  would  bave  flung  it  down  by  the  force  of  her 
imperious  will ; but  when  sbe  found  that  her  daughter 
bad  her  husband’s  opinion  and  authority  to  back  her, 
Lady  Hetberington  executed  tbe  strategic  movement  of 


LADY  CAROLINE. 


151 


retreat  with  celerity  and  discretion,  and  would  never  have 
been  suspected  of  discomfiture  had  she  not  spoken  of  her 
daughter  henceforth  with  suspicious  effusion.  Then 
“ society 55  smiled,  and  knew  all  about  it,  and  felt  that  Mr. 
Mansergh  had  been  foolish  indeed,  but  not  immoderately, 
not  unpardon  ably  so.  Lady  Caroline  was  very  popular 
and  very  much  admired,  and  had  her  only  friend’s  life 
been  prolonged  for  a few  years,  until  she  had  passed  the 
dangerous  period  of  youth,  she  might  have  been  as  worthy 
of  esteem  and  affection  as  she  was  calculated  to  inspire 
admiration.  But  Mr.  Mansergh  died  before  his  wife  was 
twenty-three  years  old,  and  left  her  with  a large  fortune, 
brilliant  beauty,  and  just  sufficient  knowledge  of  the 
world  to  enable  her  to  detect  and  despise  its  most  salient 
snares,  but  with  a mind  still  but  half  educated,  desultory 
habits,  and  a wholly  unoccupied  heart.  Her  grief  for  her 
husband’s  loss,  if  not  poignant  and  torturing,  was  at  least 
sincere,  deep,  and  well  founded.  When  he  died,  she  had 
said  to  herself  that  she  should  never  again  have  so  true,  so 
wise,  and  so  constant  a friend,  and  she  was  right.  Life 
had  many  pleasant  and  some  good  things  in  store  for  Lady 
Caroline  Mansergh,  but  such  a love  as  that  with  which 
her  husband  had  loved  her  was  not  among  them.  She 
acknowledged  this  always  ; the  impression  did  not  fade 
away  with  the  first  vehemence  of  grief — it  lasted,  and  was 
destined  to  deepen.  She  strayed  into  a bad  “ set”  before 
long,  and  to  her  youth  and  impulsiveness,  with  her  ten- 
dency to  ennui , and  her  sad  freedom  from  all  ties  of  attach- 
ment, the  step  from  feeling  that  no  one  was  so  good  as  her 
husband  had  been,  to  believing  that  no  one  else  was  good 
at  all,  was  very  easy.  And  so  Lady  Caroline  acquired  a 
dangerous  and  demoralising  trick  of  contempt  for  her 
fellows,  which  she  hid  under  a mask  of  light  and  careless 
good-nature  indeed,  and  which  was  seriously  offensive  to 
no  one,  but  which  condemned  her,  nevertheless,  to  much 
interior  solitude  and  dreariness.  That  she  was  not  of  the 
world  she  lived  in,  was  due  less  to  any  exceptional  eleva- 
tion of  sentiment  than  to  a capricious  and  disdainful 


152 


WRECKED  IN  PORT, 


humour,  which  caused  her  to  grow  bored  very  readily,  and 
to  dismiss  her  associates  from  her  thoughts  after  a brief 
scrutiny,  in  which  their  follies  and  foibles  came  into  strong 
light,  and  the  qualities  which  would  have  required  time 
and  patience  to  find  out  remained  undiscovered. 

It  had  occurred  to  Lady  Caroline  Mansergh,  on  several 
occasions  of  late,  to  wonder  whether  she  was  destined  ever 
to  experience  the  passion  called  love.  She  had  not  re- 
mained ignorant  of  the  science  of  flirtation  up  to  her 
present  time  of  life,  but  she  had  not  been  beguiled,  ever 
so  briefly,  into  mistaking  any  of  her  flirtations  for  love. 
So  she  was  accustomed  to  wonder  wearily,  when  in  an 
unusually  desultory  mood,  whether  she  should  ever  feel 
that  there  existed  in  the  world  a human  being  for  whom 
she  should  be  willing  to  suffer,  with  whom  life  would  be 
happy,  without  whom  it  would  be  intolerable,  and  whose 
welfare  she  could  deliberately  and  practically  prefer  to 
her  own.  Of  late  she  had  begun  to  think  that  Fate  was 
against  her  in  this  particular.  The  idea  of  the  possibility 
of  feeling  love  for  one  of  the  men  whom  she  was  in  the 
habit  of  meeting  was  quite  preposterous ; she  did  not 
hold  her  favourite  followers  half  so  dear  as  Hassan,~her 
black  barb,  or  like  them  half  so  well  as  Gelert,  her  grey- 
hound. Her  life  would  doubtless  continue  to  be  the 
bright,  fashionable,  flimsy,  careless,  rather  ennuye  existence 
it  had  hitherto  been,  and  she  should  never  know  anything 
of  the  power,  the  pain,  the  engrossing  influence  of  love. 
So  much  the  better,  she  would  think,  in  her  more  hopeful 
moods ; it  must  be  a narrowing  kind  of  influence,  bound- 
ing all  one’s  horizon  within  such  small  limits,  shutting  up 
one’s  mortal  vista  with  one  figure. 

When  the  Lady  Caroline  dismissed  her  maid,  and 
resigned  herself  to  reverie,  on  this  night,  it  was  not,  after 
her  accustomed  fashion,  to  dwell  in  her  thoughts  on  the 
dulness,  staleness,  flatness,  and  unprofitableness  of  the 
world  in  general,  and  the  section  of  it  in  which  she  lived 
in  particular.  She  had  quite  a distinct  subject  for 
thought,  she  had  a figure  and  a face  in  her  fancy,  a voice 


LADY  CAROLINE.* 


153 


in  her  memory  which  filled  them  wholly.  What  if  she 
had  been  wrong,  if  not  only  love  were  coming  to  her,  to 
fill  her  life  with  delight,  and  turn  its  weariness  with 
purpose  and  meaning,  but  love  at  first  sight  ? A ridicu- 
lous notion,  entertained  by  school-girls,  housemaids, 
novelists,  and  poets,  but  scouted  by  all  reasonable  people 
of  the  world,  and  in  “ society.”  She  knew  this,  but  she 
did  not  care ; there  was  a strange  delicious  thrill  about 
her  heart ; and  in  the  swift  flight  of  her  thoughts  she 
swept  the  beams  of  happy  possibilities,  and  felt  that  she 
could,  and  would,  and  did  despise  society  and  its  notions 
on  this  point. 

What  did  she  know  about  Walter  Joyce  ? Absolutely 
nothing,  but  that  he  was  young,  handsome,  brightly  in- 
telligent, presumably  poor,  and  socially  insignificant,  or 
he  would  not  be  her  silly  brother’s  secretary.  Her  atten- 
tion had  been  directed  to  him  at  first,  because  she  felt  a 
compassionate  curiosity  about  the  person  whom  circum- 
stances had  oppressed  so  cruelly  as  to  oblige  him  to 
purvey  ideas,  and  language  in  which  to  express  them,  for 
Lord  Hetherington.  Curiosity  and  compassion  had  been 
replaced,  within  a few  minutes,  by  admiration,  which  the 
difference  between  the  manners  and  bearing  of  Walter, 
and  those  of  the  men  with  whom  she  was  accustomed  to 
associate,  rather  tended  to  increase.  There  was  no  awk- 
wardness about  Walter,  but  neither  was  there  the  slightest 
pretence.  He  was  at  ease  in  the  unaccustomed  company 
he  found  himself  among,  but  he  did  not  affect  to  be  other 
than  an  observant  stranger  in  it. 

“ He  has  an  intellect  and  a heart,”  said  Lady  Caroline 
half  aloud,  as  she  rose  from  her  seat  by  the  fireside,  and 
brought  her  reverie  to  a conclusion,  “ and  why  should  I 
care  for  the  world’s  opinion  ? It  could  not  make  me 
happy,  if  I conciliated  it ; but  I think  lie  could,  if  I defied 
it  for  his  sake,” 


154 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


CHAPTER  XY. 

“NEWS  FROM  THE  HUMMING  CITY.” 

After  tlie  ladies  left  the  dining-room,  Walter  Joyce,  in 
the  general  re-arrangement  of  seats  thereon  ensuing, 
found  himself  placed  next  to  Mr.  Gould.  It  was  soon 
obvious  that  his  propinquity  was  not  accidental  on  Mr. 
Gould’s  part.  That  keen-looking  gentleman  at  once 
wheeled  round  in  his  chair,  helped  himself  to  a few  olives 
and  a glass  of  the  driest  sherry  within  his  reach,  and 
then  fixing  his  bright  steel-blue  eyes  on  his  neighbour, 
said — 

“ That  was  news  for  you,  that  about  young  Creswell’s 
accident,  Mr.  Joyce?” 

“It  was  indeed,”  replied  Walter;  “ and — to  a certain 
extent — sad  news.” 

“ You  knew  the  boy  who  was  killed,  and  his  father  ? ” 

“ Both.  I knew  the  boy  well ; he  was  a pupil  in  the 
school  where  I was  an  usher,  and  I knew  the  father — by 
sight — as  a man  in  my  position  would  know  a man  in  his.” 

44  Ah — of  course  ! ” and  Mr.  Gould  glanced  more  keenly 
than  ever  at  his  interlocutor,  to  see  whether  he  was  speak- 
ing earnestly  or  contemptuously.  Earnestly,  he  thought, 
after  a glance,  and  Joyce  fell  a little  in  the  worldly  man’s 
opinion.  He  sucked  an  olive  slowly,  made  a little  pattern 
on  his  plate  with  the  stones,  and  then  said,  “ Do  you 
think  this  affair  will  make  any  difference  in  Mr.  Creswell’s 
future  ? ” 

“ In  his  future  ? Will  the  loss  of  his  son  make  an3=r 
difference  in  his  future  ? Are  you  serious  in  asking  such 
a question,  Mr.  Gould?  Will  it  not  leave  his  life  a blank, 
a vague  misery  without ” 

4 4 Yes,  yes,  of  course ; I know  all  about  that.  You’ll 
pardon  me,  Mr.  Joyce,  I’m  a much  older  man  than  you, 
and  therefore  yon  won’t  mind  my  experiencing  a certain 


“ NEWS  FROM  THE  HUMMING  CITY.1 


155 


amount  of  deliglit  in  your  perfect  freshness  and  sim- 
plicity. As  to  leaving  the  man’s  life  blank,  and  all  that 
— nonsense,  my  dear  sir,  sheer  nonsense.  He’ll  find  plenty 
of  distraction,  even  at  his  age,  to  fill  up  the  blank.  Now, 
I was  not  considering  the  question  from  a domestic  point 
of  view  in  the  least;  what  I meant  was,  do  you  think 
that  it  will  alter  any  of  his  intentions  as  regards  public 
life?” 

“ Public  life  ? — Mr.  Creswell  ? ” 

“ Yes,  indeed,  public  life,  Mr.  Creswell ! I suppose 
now  there’s  no  harm  in  telling  you  that  the  Conservative 
authorities  in  London,  the  wire-pullers  in  Westminster, 
have  long  had  it  in  their  minds  to  wrest  the  seat  for 
Brocksopp  from  the  Liberals,  that  at  the  next  general 
election  they  have  determined  to  make  the  fight,  and  they 
have  selected  Mr.  Creswell  as  their  champion.” 

“ Mr.  Creswell  of  Woolgreaves — going  into  Parlia- 
ment ? ” 

“Well,  that’s  rather  a summary  way  of  putting  it, 
Mr.  Joyce,”  said  the  lawyer,  with  a chuckle.  “ Say  rather, 
going  to  try  to  get  into  Parliament ! Bidwell,  of  Brock- 
sopp, the  Liberal  agent,  is  a deuced  long-headed  fellow, 
and  will  make  a tremendous  struggle  to  keep  Mr.  Creswell 
out  in  the  cold.  Do  you  know  Bidwell,  of  Brocksopp  ? ” 

“ I have  a slight  acquaintance  with  him.” 

“ Then  you’ve  a slight  acquaintance  with  a remark- 
ably sharp  character,  and  one  who  never  misses  a chance 
for  his  party.  It  will  be  a tremendous  fight,  sir,  this  next 
election,”  said  Mr.  Gould,  warming  up,  placing  all  his 
olive-stones  in  a row,  and  charging  at  them  with  his 
dessert-knife ; “ they’ll  do  all  they  can  to  beat  us,  and 
we  shall  have  to  do  all  we  know  to  hold  our  own.  When 
I say  ‘ we,’  of  course  I reckon  you  as  a Conservative.” 

“ I — I have  no  political  opinions.  I take  no  interest 
in  politics,”  said  Joyce  absently. 

Mr.  Creswell,  from  any  but  a domestic  point  of  view, 
could  not  rouse  an  emotion  in  him. 

“Don’t  you  indeed?  No  political  opinions?  Ah,  I 


156 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


remember  when  I hadn’t  any  myself.  That  was — dear 
me ! ” and  the  astute  parliamentary  agent  made  a new 
pattern  with  the  olive-stones,  while  his  thoughts  went 
back  for  a quarter  of  a century,  to  a time  when  he  was 
under  articles  in  Gray’s  Inn,  used  to  frequent  the  Cider 
Cellars,  and  was  desperately  in  love  with  the  columbine  of 
the  Adelphi. 

They  went  to  the  drawing-room  soon  afterwards. 
There  was  some  instrumental  music  of  the  most  approved 
firework  style,  and  then  Captain  Frampton  growled  away 
at  “II  Balen”  with  great  success,  and  Joyce  was  just 
making  up  his  mind  to  slip  away,  when  Lady  Caroline 
Mansergh  sat  down  to  the  piano,  and  began  to  sing  one  of 
Moore’s  melodies  to  her  own  accompaniment.  Ah,  surely 
it  is  not  laying  one’s  self  open  to  the  charge  of  fogeyism  to 
grieve  over  the  relegation  to  the  “ Canterbury  ” of  those 
charming  ballads,  wherein  the  brightest  fancies  were 
wedded  to  the  sweetest  sounds  ? If  the  “ makers  of 
the  people’s  ballads  ” possess  the  power  ascribed  to  them, 
there  is,  indeed,  but  little  cause  to  wonder  at  the  want  of 
tone  prevalent  in  a society,  which  for  its  drawing-room 
music  alternates  between  mawkish  sentimentality  and  pot- 
house slang.  When  the  first  note  of  Lady  Caroline’s  rich 
contralto  voice  rippled  round  the  room,  the  guests  standing 
about  in  small  knots,  coffee-cup  in  hand,  gradually  sidled 
towards  the  piano,  and  ere  she  had  sung  the  first  stanza 
even  Colonel  Tapp’s  ventriloquial  grumbling — he  was 
discussing  army  estimates,  and  the  infernal  attempts 
at  cheeseparing  of  the  Manchester  School — was  hushed. 
No  one  in  the  room  was  uninfluenced  by  the  singer’s  spell, 
on  no  one  had  it  so  much  effect  as  on  Walter  Joyce,  who 
sat  far  away  in  the  shadow  of  a curtain,  an  open 
photograph-book  unheeded  on  his  knee,  drinking  in 
the  melody  and  surrendering  himself  entirely  to  its  potent 
charms.  His  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  singer,  now  on  her 
expressive  face,  now  on  her  delicate  little  hands  as  they 
went  softly  wandering  over  the  keys,  but  his  thoughts 
were  very,  very  far  away.  Far  away  in  the  old  school 


“NEWS  from  the  humming  city.”  157 

garden,  with  its  broad  grass-plots,  its  ruddy  wall,  its  high 
elm  trees,  frame-like  bordering  the  sweet  domestic  picture. 
Far  away  with  Marian,  the  one  love  which  his  soul  had 
ever  known.  Ah,  how  visibly  he  saw  her  then,  the  trim 
figure  noiselessly  moving  about  on  its  domestic  errands,  the 
bright  beryl  eyes  upturned  in  eager  questioning  towards 
his  own,  the  delicate  hand  with  its  long  thin  fingers  laid 
in  such  trusting  confidence  on  his  arm ! What  ages  it 
seemed  since  he  had  seen  her ! what  a tremendous  gulf 
seemed  ever  to  separate  them  ! And  what  prospect  was 
there  of  that  union  for  which  they  had  so  fervently 
prayed  ? The  position  he  was  to  gain — where  was  that  ? 
What  progress  had  he  made  in — “ friends  once  linked 
together  I’ve  seen  around  me  fall,  like  leaves  in  wintry 
weather ! ” Ay,  ay,  the  poor  old  dominie,  at  rest — better 
there  than  anywhere  else,  better  to  be  out  of  the  strife  and 
the  worry,  and — good  heavens ! was  this  what  he  had 
promised  her?  was  this  the  courage  on  which  he  had 
prided  himself,  and  which  was  to  carry  him  through  the 
world?  “Brava!  brava  ! Oh,  thank  you  so  very  much, 
Lady  Caroline.  Mayn’t  we  hope  for  another?  Thanks, 
so  much  ! ” The  song  was  over ; the  singer  had  left  the 
piano.  He  caught  one  glance  as  he  bowed  and  murmured 
his  thanks.  He  could  not  stand  it  any  longer,  his 
thoughts  had  completely  unmanned  him,  and  he  longed 
for  solitude.  If  it  were  rude  to  leave  the  party  he  must 
brave  even  Lady  Hetherington’s  wrath,  but  he  would  try 
and  get  away  unobserved.  Now,  while  the  hum  of  admi- 
ration was  still  going  on,  and  while  people  were  gathering- 
round  Lady  Caroline,  was  the  opportunity.  He  availed 
himself  of  it,  slipped  away  unperceived,  and  hurried  to  his 
own  room. 

He  closed  the  door  behind  him,  turned  the  key,  and 
flung  himself  on  to  the  bed,  in  the  dark.  He  felt  that  he 
could  contain  himself  no  longer,  and  now  that  he  was 
alone  and  unseen,  there  was  no  further  reason  to  restrain 
the  tears  which  had  been  welling  into  his  eyes,  and  now 
flowed  unchecked  down  his  cheeks.  He  was  a man  of 


158 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


nervous  temperament,  highly  wrought  susceptibilities,  and 
acute  sympathies,  which  had  been  over-excited  during  the 
evening  by  the  story  of  Tom  Cres well’s  death,  his  own 
recollections  of  his  past  life,  and  the  weird  thought- 
compelling  power  of  Lady  Caroline’s  music.  There  was 
no  special  occasion  for  these  tears  ; he  knew  nothing  had 
happened  to  Marian,  nothing — no,  nothing  had  happened 
calculated  in  any  way  to  interpose  any — any  barrier 
between  them ; his  position  was  pleasant,  his  prospects 
brighter  than  he  could  have  hoped — and  yet,  and  yet! 
How  very  strange  that  she  had  not  written  lately  ! — 
unless,  indeed,  she  had  been  completely  absorbed  by 
ministering  to  the  trouble  round  her.  Walter  could  easily 
picture  to  himself  the  comfort  she  must  have  been  to  all 
in  the  midst  of  the  desolation  which  had  fallen  upon  that 
hitherto  prosperous  house ; he  recollected  how  even  in  the 
midst  of  her  own  deep  sorrow  she  had  been  able,  at  the 
time  of  her  father’s  death,  to  rouse  her  mother  from 
the  lethargic  state  of  grief  into  which  she  had  fallen  ; and 
if  Marian  could  do  that  then,  while  her  own  heart  was 
bleeding,  how  much  more  would  she  be  able  to  bestir 
herself  now,  when  neither  for  the  dead,  nor  for  those  left 
behind,  had  she  anything  but  a kindly  interest?  And 
might  not  this  sad  event  prove  a useful  lesson  to  her; 
might  it  not  prove  the  one  thing  needful  to  render  her  a 
perfect  character,  showing  her,  as  it  would,  that  there  are 
worse  misfortunes  than  poverty,  and  that  grief  can  slip  in 
behind  the  shields  of  wealth  and  position,  and  abase  the 
heads  of  their  possessors  to  the  dust?  That  longing  for 
money  and  worship  of  position  was  the  only  blot  in 
Marian’s  character,  as  seen  by  Walter  Joyce’s  eyes,  and  if 
this  accident  led  to  its  eradication,  it  would  not  have  been 
without  its  beneficent  purpose. 

He  rose  from  the  bed,  and  felt  his  way  towards  his' 
dressing-table.  As  he  was  groping  for  the  matches,  his 
hand  fell  upon  an  unopened  letter.  From  Marian,  with- 
out a doubt;  he  felt  his  heart  throbbing;  at  once  ho 
struck  a light  and  looked  hurriedly  for  the  familiar 


NEWS  FROM  THE  HUMMING  CITY. 


159 


ci 


writing.  No,  not  from  Marian ! Totally  unlike  her 
square  neatly  written  notes ; a large  bine  letter,  directed 
in  a straggling  hand,  and  awkwardly  folded.  Though 
Joyce  was  disappointed  and  vexed  for  an  instant,  he 
quickly  recovered  himself,  and  he  took  the  letter  up  and 
smiled  at  it  pleasantly,  for  he  had  recognised  the  style  and 
the  writing,  and  he  knew  that  it  had  come  from  old  Jack 
Byrne. 

Thus  it  ran : 

“ London,  Thursday. 

“My  dear  Boy, 

“ You’ll  wonder  I haven’t  answered  that  capital 
letter  you  sent  me,  giving  a description  of  Westhope  and 
its  people,  and  your  life  there.  You’ll  wonder,  because 
you  are  young;  when  you’re  as  old  as  I am  you  won’t 
wonder  at  anything,  except  when  you  sometimes  find  a 
man  tell  the  truth ; but  you  shouldn’t  wonder  then, 
because  it  would  only  be  an  accident.  I am  very  glad 
that  you  seem  to  be  so  comfortable  among  the  swells,  but 
I never  had  much  fear  about  it.  I know  them  root  and 
branch,  the  whole  lot,  though  I’m  only  an  old  bird-stuffer; 
but  I’m  like  Ulysses,  I’ve  seen  men  and  cities,  and  used  my 
eyes — used  ’em  so  much  that,  by  Jove ! I don’t  think 
they’ll  last  me  much  longer — at  least,  for  thb  fine  work  in 
my  business.  What  was  I saying  ? Oh,  I see ; I know 
the  swells,  and  I know  that  if  they  see  a man  respect 
himself  they  always  respect  him.  All  of  ’em,  sir ; don’t 
make  any  mistake  about  it.  All  of  ’em,  the  most  ineffable 
transparencies,  who  think  you’re  sewn  up  and  stuffed  in 
quite  a different  way  from  themselves,  the  kindly  noodles, 
and  the  clever  people — for  there  are  clever  people,  a few, 
even  among  swells — all  like  to  see  a man  respect  himself. 
You’ll  have  found  out  by  this  time,  if  you  did  not  know 
it  before,  that  Lord  Hetherington  is  one  of  the  kindly 
noodles,  and  one  of  the  best  of  ’em.  He  can’t  help  be- 
lieving in  his  blood,  and  his  lineage,  and  his  descent  from 
those  bloodthirsty,  ignorant  old  ruffians  of  the  Middle 
Ages,  whose  only  good  was  that  they  killed  other  blood- 


160 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


thirsty,  ignorant  old  ruffians,  and  he  can’t  help  being  a 
fool,  that  being  the  penalty  which  a man  generally  has  to 
pay  for  being  able  to  boast  of  his  descent ; but  he  is 
harmless  and  kind-hearted.  How  goes  on  the  book? 
Take  my  advice,  and  make  it  light  and  anecdotical.  Boil 
down  those  old  chronicles  and  parchments  of  the  great 
West  family,  and  serve  them  up  in  a soufflet.  And  don’t 
let  your  heavy  pedagogical  style  be  seen  in  the  dish  ! If 
you  do,  everybody  will  know  at  once  that  my  lord  has  had 
nothing  to  do  with  the  book  on  the  title-page  of  which  his 
name  figures.  I suppose  it  wouldn’t  do  to  put  in  any  bad 
spelling,  would  it  ? That  would  be  immensely  reassuring 
to  all  who  know  Lord  Hetherington  as  to  the  real  author- 
ship. 

“ And  my  lady,  how  is  that  grande  dame  ? I’ve  grinned 
a hundred  times,  thinking  over  your  face  of  indignation 
and  disgust  at  the  manner  in  which  she  received  you  that 
day  we  went  to  call  on  their  magnificences  at  the 
Clarendon,  with  a view  to  your  engagement ! How  does 
she  treat  you  now  ? Has  she  ordered  you  to  black  her 
boots  yet,  or  to  wash  her  lap-dog,  or  to  take  your  meals 
with  her  lady’s-maid  ? Or,  more  likely  still,  has  she  never 
taken  any  notice  at  all  of  you,  having  no  idea  of  your 
existence,  beyond  the  fact  that  there  is  a writing-machine 
— you — in  the  library,  as  there  is  a churn  in  the  dairy, 
and  a mangle  in  the  laundry  ! And  does  this  behaviour 
gird  you,  and  do  you  growl  inwardly  about  it,  or  are  you  a 
philosopher,  and  able  to  despise  anything  that  a woman 
can  do  to  hurt  you  ? If  the  latter,  come  up  to  town  at 
once,  and  I will  exhibit  you  in  a show  as  a lusus  naturae , 
and  we  will  divide  the  profits  and  make  our  fortunes. 

“ And  while  on  that  subject,  Walter,  let  me  drop  my 
old  cynical  fun,  and  talk  to  you  for  a minute  honestly  and 
with  all  the  affection  of  which  my  hard,  warped,  crabbed 
nature  is  capable.  I can  write  to  you  what  I couldn’t  say 
to  you,  my  boy,  and  you  won’t  think  me  gushing  when 
I tell  you  that  my  heart  had  been  tight  locked  and  barred 
for  years  before  I saw  you,  and  that  I don’t  think  I’ve 


NEWS  FEOM  THE  HUMMING  CITY. 


161 


<< 


been  any  the  worse  since  you  found  a key  somehow — God 
knows  how — to  unlock  it.  Now,  then,  after  that  little  bit 
of  maudlin  nonsense,  to  what  I was  going  to  say.  The 
first  time  we  were  ever  in  my  old  room  together  talking 
over  your  future,  I proposed  to  start  you  for  Australia. 
You  declined,  saying  that  you  couldn’t  possibly  leave 
England;  and  when  I pressed  you  about  the  ties  that 
bound  you  here,  and  learned  that  you  had  no  father  or 
mother,  you  boggled,  and  hesitated,  and  broke  down,  and 
I was  obliged  to  help  you  out  of  your  sentence  by  chang- 
ing the  subject.  Do  you  remember  all  that  ? And  do  you 
think  I didn’t  know  what  it  all  meant  ? That  marvellous 
stupidity  of  young  men,  which  prevents  them  from  think- 
ing that  any  one  has  ever  been  young  but  themselves  ! 
I knew  that  it  meant  that  you  were  in  love,  Walter,  and 
that’s  what  I want  to  ask  you  about.  From  that  hour 
until  the  day  we  pressed  hands  in  farewell  at  Euston 
Square,  you  never  alluded  to  her  again ! In  the  long 
letter  which  you  sent  me,  and  which  now  lies  before  me,  a 
letter  treating  fully  of  your  present  and  your  future  life, 
there  is  no  word  of  her  ! Don’t  think  I am  surprised  at  a 
fine,  generous,  hearty,  hopeful  young  fellow  not  giving  his 
love-confidence  to  a withered,  dried-up  old  skittle  like 
myself ; I never  expected  it ; I should  not  mention  it  now, 
save  that  I fear  that  the  state  of  affairs  can  be  scarcely 
satisfactory  between  you,  or  you,  who  have  placed  your 
whole  story  unresex’vedly  before  me,  would  not  have  hidden 
this  most  important  part  of  it.  Nor  do  I want  to  ask  you 
for  a confidence  which  you  have  not  volunteered.  I only 
wish  you  to  examine  the  matter  calmly,  quietly,  and 
under  the  exercise  of  your  common  sense,  of  which  you 
have  plenty.  And  if  it  is  unsatisfactory  in  any  way — 
give  it  up  ! Yes,  Walter,  give  it  up  ! It  sounds  harshly, 
ridiculously,  I know,  but  it  is  honest  advice,  and  if  I had 
had  any  one  to  say  it  to  me  years  and  years  ago,  and 
to  enforce  my  adoption  of  it,  I should  have  been  a very 
different  man.  Believe  in  no  woman’s  love,  Walter;  trust 
no  woman’s  looks,  or  words,  or  vows.  ‘ First  of  all  would 

M 


162 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


I fly  from  the  cruel  madness  of  love,’  says  Mr.  Tennyson, 
and  he  is  right.  Cruel  madness,  indeed  ! we  laugh  at  the 
wretched  lunatic  who  dons  a paper  crown,  and  holds 
a straw  for  a sceptre,  while  all  the  time  we  are  hugging 
our  own  tinsel  vanities,  and  exulting  in  our  own  sham 
state ! That’s  where  the  swells  have  the  pull,  my  boy ! 
They  have  no  nonsense  about  mutual  love,  and  fitness, 
and  congeniality,  and  all  that  stuff,  which  is  fitted  for 
nothing  but  valentine-mongers  and  penny-romancists ; 
they  are  not  very  wise,  but  they  lmow  that  the  domi- 
nant passion  in  a man’s  heart  is  admiration  of  beauty, 
the  dominant  passion  in  a woman’s  is  ambition,  and 
they  go  quietly  into  the  mart  and  arrange  the  affair, 
on  the  excellent  principle  of  barter.  When  I was  your 
age  I could  not  believe  in  this,  had  high  hopes  and 
aspirations,  and  scouted  the  idea  of  woman’s  inconstancy 
— went  on  loving  and  hoping  and  trusting,  from  month  to 
month,  and  from  year  to  year,  wore  out  my  youth  and  my 
freshness  and  my  hope,  and  was  then  flung  aside  and 
discarded,  the  victim  of  4 better  opportunities  ’ and  4 im- 
proved position.’  Oh,  Lord!  I never  intended  to  open 
my  mouth  about  this,  but  if  you  ever  want  to  hear  the 
whole  story,  I’ll  tell  you  some  day.  Meanwhile,  think 
over  these  hints,  my  boy ! Life’s  too  short  and  too  hard 
as  it  is,  and — verbum  sap. 

44  Most  probably  you’ll  never -take  any  further  notice  of 
me,  after  that.  If  you  have  corns,  I must  have  been  hard 
and  heavy  upon  them,  and  you’ll  curse  my  impertinence  ; 
if  you  haven’t,  you’ll  think  me  the  prosiest  of  old  bores. 
Just  like  me.  I see  plainly  that  I must  have  made  a mess 
of  it,  whichever  way  it  turns  up. 

“You  tell  me  to  send  you  news.  Not  much  about; 
but  what  there  is,  encouraging  and  good  for  the  cause. 
There  is  very  little  doubt  that  at  the  general  election, 
which  will  come  off  in  a few  months,  we  shall  be  stronger 
by  far  than  we  ever  expected,  and  shall  cut  the  combs 
of  some  of  those  aristocrats  and  plutocrats  very  close 
indeed.  There  is  a general  feeling  that  blood  and  money- 


NEWS  FROM  THE  HUMMING  CITY. 


163 


bags  bave  divided  the  spoil  too  long,  and  and  that  worth 
and  intellect  may  be  allowed  a chance  of  being  brought 
into  play.  There  are  three  or  four  men  at  the  club,  whom 
you  know,  and  who  are  tolerably  certain  of  seats,  and  who, 
if  once  they  get  the  opportunity  of  making  their  voices 
heard  in  Parliament,  will  show  the  world  of  what  stuff 
real  Englishmen  consist.  Who  do  you  think  is  helping  us 
immensely  ? Shimmer,  he  of  Bliff kins’s  ! He  has  got  an 
engagement  on  the  Comet — a new  journal  which  has  just 
started  in  our  interest,  and  he  is  writing  admirably.  A 
good  deal  of  Lempriere’s  dictionary,  and  Bohn’s  quotations, 
and  Solomon’s  proverbs,  mixed  up  with  a dashing  incisive 
style  and  sound  Saxon  English,  has  proved  immensely 
telling.  People  are  buying  the  Comet  everywhere,  and 
Shimmer’s  salary  has  been  twice  raised,  and  he  has  been 
applied  to  for  his  photograph.  He  does  not  come  much  to 
Bliff kins’s  now,  greatly  to  old  Wickwar’s  relief.  The  old 
gentleman  has  expressed  his  opinion  that  since  Robsperry 
(he  is  supposed  to  have  meant  Robespierre)  there  has  been 
no  such  sanguinary  democrat  as  Shimmer.  When  will  you 
come  back  to  us,  Walter?  I look  at  the  place  where  I 
used  to  see  you  sitting,  before  I ever  spoke  to  you ; I sit 
and  stare  at  it  now  until  I feel  my  eyes D — d old  fool ! 

“ Good-bye,  boy.  Let  me  hear  from  you  again  soon. 
You  know  what  you  promised  if  ever  you  wanted  money 
or  anything.  J.  B. 

“ Opened  again  to  say  Shimmer  has  been  here  in- 
quiring after  you.  Comet  people  want  a correspondent 
at  Berlin — special  and  important.  S.  thinks  you’ll  do. 
Will  you  go  ? J.  B.” 

The  company  had  long  since  departed  from  Westhope ; 
the  family  had  long  since  retired  to  rest;  dim  lights 
glimmered  here  and  there  in  the  windows ; but  Walter 
Joyce  remained  sitting  on  the  side  of  his  bed,  with  Jack 
Byrne’s  open  letter  in  his  hand.  When  he  wrote  it  the  old 
man  little  thought  what  a field  of  painful  speculation  ho 
had  laid  open  for  its  recipient. 


164 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


CHAPTEB  XVI. 

“HE  LOVES  ME;  HE  LOVES  ME  NOT.” 

The  interest  which  Walter  Joyce  had  awakened  in  Lady 
Caroline  Mansergh  on  the  night  of  the  dinner-party  by  no 
means  died  out,  or  even  waned.  Flirtation  is  certainly 
not  an  exceptional  amusement  in  the  dead  level  of  dreary 
occupations  which  a country-house  life  affords,  but  this 
word-pastime  was  certainly  not  flirtation.  The  notion  of 
flirting  with  her  brother’s  secretary,  which  would  have 
been  exceedingly  comic  to  the  rest  of  the  world,  and 
afforded  a vast  deal  of  amusement  to  the  kindly  noodle 
portion  of  the  Westhope  society,  did  not  strike  Lady 
Caroline  at  all  in  a ridiculous  light ; but  to  flirt  with 
Walter  Joyce  she  knew  would  be  impossible.  The  sighing 
and  looking,  the  giving  and  taking,  the  fetching  and 
carrying,  and  all  the  poodle  tricks  which  are  played  by 
the  best  style  of  male  flirts,  in  the  best  style  of  society, 
she  knew  would  be  impossible  to  him ; and  though  she 
had  had  long  practice  in  the  art,  and  had  derived  no  little 
amusement  from  it,  she  felt  it  would  be  repulsive  to  her 
to  try  her  hand  on  such  a subject.  If  not  a desire  for 
flirtation,  what  was  it  that  irresistibly  impelled  her  to 
seek  this  man’s  society ; that  made  her  start  and  thrill  at 
the  unexpected  sound  of  his  voice ; that  enabled  her  to 
picture  to  herself  so  vividly  certain  expressions  in  his  eyes, 
gestures  of  his  hands,  to  recall  phrases  of  his  conversation  ? 
Was  it  real  passion?  Had  love  come  to  her  at  last?  Was 
this  the  man  with  whom  her  fate  was  to  be  for  ever  bound 
up  ? Lady  Caroline  half  smiled  as  she  contemplated  this 
tremendous  possibility.  It  was  too  wild,  too  roman  tic^ 
this  story  of  the  Lord  of  Burleigh  with  the  sexes  reversed, 
and  with  herself  for  heroine  ; the  man  was  different  from 
those  with  whom  her  life  had  been  passed,  had  brains  and 
courage  to  use  them,  did  not  think  the  society  thoughts 


165 


“ HE  LOVES  ME  ; HE  LOVES  ME  NOT.” 

nor  speak  the  society  language,  and  was  not  comformable 
in  any  way  to  the  society  pattern.  That  was  what  it 
meant.  That  was  the  source  of  the  strange  interest  she 
felt  in  him — interest  which  was  friendly  and  appreciative, 
but  nothing  further. 

Nothing  further.  That  was  why  she  had  manoeuvred, 
carefully,  skilfully,  and  with  perfect  feminine  tact,  never 
ceasing  until  the  object  was  accomplished,  that  it  was 
understood  that  Mr.  Joyce  joined  the  family  circle  always 
after  dinner,  whether  there  were  visitors  or  not ; that  was 
why  she  invariably  found  opportunities  to  have  him 
seated  by  her  side,  or  standing  by  her  turning  over  the 
pages  of  her  music,  while  Lord  Hetherington,  with  a 
dexterity  only  acquired  by  long  practice,  held  up  the 
newspaper  before  him,  being  at  the  time  sound  asleep,  and 
her  ladyship,  scorning  concealment,  slumbered  placidly 
in  the  garish  light  of  the  moderator  lamp. 

Nothing  further.  That  was  why  Lady  Caroline  had 
suddenly  taken  to  pedestrian  exercise,  wanted  an  escort 
occasionally  to  the  village,  and  hated  the  idea  of  being 
followed  about  in  the  country  by  a footman ; found  she 
had  quite  forgotten  that  charming  Shakespeare,  and  deter- 
mined to  read  his  dear  plays  again,  and  would  not  trouble 
Mr.  Joyce  to  send  those  heavy  big  volumes  from  the 
library,  but  would  come  in  and  read  them  there  occasion- 
ally, if  he  was  quite  sure  she  did  not  disturb  him.  The 
jealous  tortures  endured  by  the  valiant  Othello,  which 
Lady  Caroline  selected  for  her  first  Shakespearian  reading, 
apparently  did  not  interest  her  very  much.  The  great 
family  history  of  the  Wests,  derived  from  ancient  chronicles 
and  documents,  upon  which  Lord  Hethering ton’s  secretary 
was  engaged,  made  but  little  progress  on  the  occasions  of 
her  ladyship’s  visits.  There  were  the  longest  and  the  plea- 
santest talks.  In  Caroline  Mansergh’s  hands  Joyce  was  as 
pliable  as  potter’s  clay.  In  less  than  a week  after  the 
dinner-party  he  had  told  her  the  history  of  his  life,  made 
her  acquainted  with  his  hopes  and  fears,  his  wishes  and 
aspirations.  Of  course  she  heard  about  his  engagement  to 


166 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


Marian ; equally  of  course  that  was  the  part  of  the  story 
in  which  she  felt  and  shared  the  greatest  interest.  Very 
quickly  she  knew  it  all.  Under  her  skilful  questioning, 
Joyce  not  merely  told  her  what  had  actually  occurred,  but 
opened  to  her  the  secret  chambers  of  his  heart,  and  displayed 
• to  her  penetrating  sense  feelings  with  the  existence  of  which 
he  himself  was  scarcely  acquainted.  The  odd  uncomfort- 
able sensation  which  first  came  over  him  in  his  last  walk 
with  Marian  round  the  school  garden,  when  she  spoke  of 
how  it  might  have  been  better  if  they  had  never  met,  and 
how  poorly  armed  he  was  for  the  great  conflict  of  life,  the 
renewal  of  the  sting  with  its  bitterness  increased  fifty-fold 
at  the  receipt  of  her  letter  dilating  on  the  luxury  of  Wool- 
greaves,  and  her  dread  of  the  poverty  which  they  would 
have  to  encounter,  the  last  hint  given  to  him  in  the 
worldly  advice  contained  in;  Jack  Byrne’s  letter — all  these 
were  submitted  to  Lady  Caroline’s  keen  powers  of  dissec- 
tion, without  Walter’s  being  in  the  least  aware  how  much 
of  his  inner  life  he  had  made  patent  to  her.  A look,  a nod, 
a word  here  or  there,  begat,  increased,  and  developed  his 
assurance  of  sympathy ; and  he  could  have  talked  till  all 
eternity  on  the  subject  dearest  to  his  heart. 

Lady  Caroline  let  him  talk,  and  only  starred  the  dia- 
logue with  occasional  interjections,  always  of  a sympa- 
thising character.  When  she  was  alone,  she  would  sit  for 
hours  reviewing  the  conversation  just  past  in  the  minutest 
detail,  weighing  and  reweighing  sentences  and  even; words 
which  Joyce  had  spoken,  sifting,  balancing,  ascribing  to 
such  and  such  influences,  putting  aside  such  and  such 
theories,  bringing  all  her  feminine  wits — and  in  the  great 
points  of  feminine  cleverness,  an  odd  common  sense,  and 
an  undefinable  blundering  on  to  the  right,  she  had  no 
superior — to  the  solution  of  the  question  of  Walter  Joyce’s 
future  so  far  as  Marian  Ashurst  was  concerned.  Whatever 
conclusion  she  may  have  arrived  at  she  kept  to  herself ; no 
one  ever  had  the  slightest  glimmering  of  it.  Her  talks  with 
Walter  Joyce  were  as  numerous  as  ever,  her  interest  in  his 
career  no  less,  her  delight  in  his  society  by  no  means  im- 


“HE  LOVES  ME;  HE  LOVES  ME  NOT.”  167 

paired  ; but  the  name  of  Miss  Ashurst  never  passed  Lady 
Caroline’s  lips,  and  whenever  she  saw  the  conversation 
necessarily  veering  that  way,  she  invariably  struck  it  out 
into  some  new  channel.  Not  that  Lady  Caroline  Mansergh 
had  any  jealousy  of  this  “ simple  maiden  in  her  flower ; ” 
she  would  not  have  allowed  that  for  an  instant,  would  not 
have  allowed,  in  her  most  secret  communings  with  herself, 
that  such  a thing  could  be  possible ; for  she  had  been 
properly  and  rigidly  brought  up  in  the  Belgravian  code  of 
morals,  though  a little  inclined  to  kick  against  them  now 
and  think  for  herself ; and  the  Belgravian  code  of  morals 
holds  the  cultivation  of  the  bien-seances  as  the  most  essen- 
tial portion  of  a young  lady’s  curriculum,  and  the  bien- 
seances  effectively  ignored  the  existence  of  any  such  low 
sentiment  as  jealousy  in  the  minds  of  perfectly  constituted 
members  of  the  upper  classes.  Not  that  Walter  Joyce 
would  have  noticed  the  display  of  any  such  passion  as 
jealousy,  or,  as  Lady  Caroline  thought  rather  ruefully, 
could  allow  any  such  feeling  to  be  excited  in  him.  In  all 
her  experience — and  it  had  been  large  and  vast — she  had 

never  come  across  a man  so  completely Well,  she 

could  scarcely  find  a term  for  it.  It  was  not  apathetic, 
because  he  was  bright  and  intelligent  and  earnest.  Per- 
haps confiding  was  the  best  word  to  use  so  far  as  his 
relations  with  Marian  were  concerned,  though,  as  Lady 
Caroline  felt,  those  relations  were  a little  dashed  with 
recent  doubt ; and  as  for  his  feelings  with  regard  to  her- 
self, skilled  mistress  as  she^was  in  the  art  of  such  wordy 
warfare,  Lady  Caroline  could  never  trap  him  into  an  am- 
buscade, or  force  him  into  anything  like  an  acknow- 
ledgment of  a liking  for  her.  It  was  not  for  the  want  of 
trying  to  evoke  it,  not  for  lack  of  given  opportunity  on  her 
part,  that  this  avowal  never  was  made.  Fortune  favoured 
her,  notably  on  one  occasion;  and  if  Walter  Joyce  had 
ever  contemplated  anything  beyond  a feeling  of  pleasant 
friendship  for  Lady  Caroline  Mansergh,  he  would  have 
availed  himself  of  that  occasion  for  expressing  it.  Thus  it 
came  about.  Lady  Caroline  was  sitting  half  buried  in  a 


168 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


big  soft  easy-chair  before  tlie  library  fire,  presumably  enjoy- 
ing Othello , but  really  watching  her  brother’s  secretary, 
who  was  busily  transcribing  from  a big  black-letter  volume 
before  him  some  of  the  glorious  deeds  of  her  remote 
ancestry.  Kaising  his  eyes  after  one  of  his  pen-dips, 
Joyce  met  Lady  Caroline’s  glance  fixed  straight  upon  him, 
and  said — 

“ Thinking  of  Iago’s  subtlety,  Lady  Caroline,  or  Des- 
demona’s  innate  weakness  ? The  former,  I should  say, 
judging  from  your  expression.” 

“ My  expression  must  be  very  poor,  then,  Mr.  Joyce, 
or  your  powers  of  reading  expression  must  be  extremely 
limited.  I was  thinking  of  something  totally  different.” 

• “ May  one  ask  of  what  ? ” 

He  had  had  a long  day  at  the  chronicles  of  the  West 
family,  and  a little  relief  was  absolutely  necessary. 

“ Oh  dear,  yes ; my  thoughts  were  certainly  not  to  be 
marked  ‘ confidential  ’ or  even  c private.’  I was  thinking 
about  our  going  back  to  town.” 

“ Oh,  indeed  ! Is  that  imminent  ? ” 

“ I should  say  certainly.  Parliament  meets  within  a 
fortnight,  and  West,  I mean  Lord  Hetherington,  never 
misses  that.  Lady  Hetherington  won’t  let  him  go  alone, 
and  once  in  Beaufort  Square,  I suppose  they’ll  stop  on.” 

“I  suppose  so.  This  house  will  seem  wonderfully 
different  when  you  have  all  left  it.” 

“ Naturally.  Deserted  houses  must  be  different  to 
those  filled  with  company,  though  their  actual  appearance 
is  of  course  only  known  to  the  housekeeper  who  is  left  in 
them,  and  housekeepers  seldom  give  their  impressions  to 
the  world.” 

“ If  you  are  interested  in  the  subject,  perhaps  you  will 
permit  me  to  give  you  a faithful  photograph  of  Westhope 
in  its  dismantled  state.” 

“ Evolved  from  your  inner  graciousness,  like  the  Ger- 
man’s idea  of  the  camel  ?•” 

“ On  the  contrary,  drawn  in  the  minutest  detail  from 
personal  observation.  The  exact  position  of  the  pen  which 


169 


“ HE  LOVES  ME  ; HE  LOVES  ME  NOT.” 

Lord  Hetherington  threw  down  after  signing  his  last 
cheque  for  Mr.  Deacon,  the  steward,  the  state  of  the 
withering  hothouse  flowers  left  by  her  ladyship  on  her 
table  in  the  drawing-room,  the  vacant  chair  in  the  library 
once  filled  by ” 

“ Thanks,  that’s  enough  ! I won’t  trouble  you  to  be 
poetical,  Mr.  Joyce ; that  will  be  wanted  one  day  at  Hel- 
mingham,  I suppose,  and  it’s  never  wise  to  be  extravagant 
with  one’s  ideas.  But  you  don’t  mean  to  say  you  think 
you  will  be  left  behind  here,  at  Westhope,  when  the  family 
returns  to  town  ? ” 

“ Assuredly,  Lady  Caroline  ! How  else  should  I be 
able  to  make  any  progress  with  my  work  ? ” 

“ I think  you  will  find,”  said  Lady  Caroline,  with  a 
smile,  “ that  the  history  of  our  family,  wonderfully  in- 
teresting as  it  doubtless  is,  and  anxiously  expected  by  the 
literary  world,  as  it  necessarily  must  be,  will  have  to  remain 
in  abeyance  for  a little  time.  The  fact  is,  that  Lord 
Hetherington  has  been  recently  much  struck  with  the 
levelling  and  democratic  spirit  of  the  age,  and  has  deter- 
mined, so  far  as  he  is  able,  to  stem  the  torrent.  He  will 
need  a certain  amount  of  assistance  before  bringing  the 
matter  before  the  House  of  Lords,  and  for  that  assistance 
I know  he  looks  to  you ! ” 

He  was  a trying  man,  this  Mr.  Joyce.  There  was  a 
scarcely  suppressed  gleam  of  fun  in  Lady  Caroline’s  usually 
earnest  eyes  that  ought  to  have  conveyed  to  any  man 
acquainted  with  the  circumstances  of  the  position  the  fact 
that  this  new  combination  had  been  suggested  by  her.  and 
by  her  alone,  and  that  she  perfectly  appreciated  not  merely 
its  serviceable  but  its  ludicrous  side.  Walter  Joyce 
appreciated  neither.  He  should  of  course  be  ready  to  give 
his  services  in  whatever  way  they  might  be  required,  he 
said,  adding  with  clumsy  candour  that  he  had  been  almost 
looking  forward  to  the  time  of  the  family’s  departure  for 
the  additional  facilities  which  would  be  afforded  him  in 
getting  on  with  his  work. 

This  was  too  much  for  Lady  Caroline.  A flush  passed 
across  her  cheek,  as  she  said — 


170 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


“ It  has  been  Lady  Hetherington’s  accidental,  and  by 
no  means  wilful  error,  Mr.  J oyce,  that  your  time  has  been 
already  so  much  intruded  on.  We  have,  unfortunately 
for  us  no  doubt,  been  unaccustomed  to  the  ways  of  recluses, 
and  have  preposterously  imagined  that  a little  society 

might  be  more  agreeable  to  them  than 55 

But  here  she  stopped,  catching  sight  of  the  troubled 
expression  on  his  face,  of  his  downcast  eyes  and  twitching 
lips.  There  was  silence  for  a moment,  but  he  soon  mastered 
his  emotion. 

“ I see  plainly  that  I have  blundered,  as  was  not  un- 
natural that  I should,  through  the  lack  of  power  of  ex- 
pressing myself  clearly.  Believe  me,  Lady  Caroline,  that 
I am  infinitely  indebted  to  Lord  and  Lady  Hetherington, 
and  to  you  especially.  Yes,  indeed,  for  I know  where  the 
indebtedness  lies — more  especially  to  you  for  all  the  kind- 
ness you  have  shown  me,  and  the  notice  you  have  taken  of 

me.  And  I — I intended ” 

“ Will  you  prove  the  truth  of  your  protestations  by 
never  saying  another  word  on  the  subject?  The  give-and- 
take  principle  has  been  carried  out  in  our  society  as  much 
as  the  most  ardent  democrat,  say  yourself,  Mr.  Joyce,  could 
have  desired.  I am  sure  you  are  too  good-natured  to  mourn 
over  the  hours  torn  from  your  great  work  and  frittered  away 
in  frivolous  conversation  when  you  know  that  you  have 
helped  Lady  Hetherington  and  myself  to  undergo  an 
appalling  amount  of  country  people,  and  that  while  the 
dead  Wests  may  grieve  over  the  delay  in  the  publication 
of  their  valour  and  virtue,  the  living  Wests  are  grateful 
for  assistance  rendered  them  in  their  conflict  with  the 
bores.  Ho^vever,  all  that  is  nearly  at  an  end.  When  the 
family  is  at  Hetherington  House,  I have  no  doubt  you  will 
be  enabled  to  enjoy  the  strictest  seclusion.  Meantime, 
there  is  only  one  festivity  that  I know  of  which  is  likely 
to  cause  us  to  ask  you  to  tear  yourself  away  from  your 
chronicles.” 

“ And  that  is  ? ” 

“ A skating-party.  Consequently  dependent  on  the 


HE  LOVES  ME  ; HE  LOVES  ME  NOT. 


171 


<c 


state  of  the  weather.  So  that  if  yon  are  still  hermitically 
inclined,  you  had  better  pray  for  a thaw.  If  the  frost 
holds  like  this,  we  are  anticipating  a very  pleasant  afternoon 
to-morrow:  the  people  from  the  barracks  and  some  others 
are  coming  over,  the  men  report  the  ice  in  capital  order, 
and  there’s  to  be  luncheon  and  that  kind  of  thing.  But 
perhaps,  after  all,  you  don’t  skate,  Mr.  Joyce?” 

“ Oh  yes,  indeed — and  you  ? ” 

“ Nothing  in  the  world  I’m  so  fond  of,  or,  if  I may  say 
so,  that  I do  so  well.  We  wintered  one  year  in  Vienna ; 
there  was  a piece  of  water  privately  enclosed  called  the 
Schwann  Spiegel,  where  the  Emperor — never  mind ! ” 

The  next  day  was  very  bright  and  very  pleasant. 
Whether  Walter  Joyce  had  prayed  for  a thaw  or  not,  it  is 
certain  that  the  frost  of  the  previous  night  had  been  very 
mild  as  compared  with  its  immediate  predecessors;  the 
wind  had  shifted  round  to  the  south-west,  the  sun  had 
actual  warmth,  and  weather  wise  people  assumed  to  notice 
a certain  dun  effect  of  the  atmosphere,  and  therefrom  to 
presage  snow.  The  notion  of  the  skating-party  about  to 
take  place  had  been  received  with  immense  delight  at  the 
barracks  at  Brocksopp,  and  at  the  various  houses  to  which 
invitations  had  been  forwarded.  To  exhibit  themselves  in 
becoming  costume  a little  removed  from  ordinary  every-day 
dress  was  in  itself  a delight  to  the  younger  members  of 
society ; while  the  elders,  independently  of  their  gratifica- 
tion in  being  brought  personally  into  contact  with  the 
Lord-Lieutenant  of  the  county,  knew  the  capabilities  of 
the  Westhope  cellar  and  kitchen,  and  recognised  the  fact 
that  luncheon  under  such  auspices  meant  something  more 
than  sandwiches  and  cheap  sherry.  The  gathering  was 
held  on  a large  sheet  of  water  which  was  a pond,  but 
which,  being  situate  in  the  Westhope  domain,  profited  by 
the  generally  aristocratic  nature  of  its  surroundings  and 
was  called  a lake,  lying  about  half  a mile  from  the  house. 
A large  tent  had  been  pitched  on  the  bank,  and  as  of  course 
it  was  impossible  to  have  any  regular  sit-down  luncheon, 
refreshments  were  perpetually  going  on,  “ snacks”  were 


172 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


indulged  in  between  the  performance  of  wild  evolutions 
given  out  to  be  quadrilles,  and  gone  through  to  the  music 
of  the  military  band,  which,  with  very  blue  cheeks  and 
very  stiff  fingers,  was  playing  on  the  bank,  and  the  con- 
sumption of  liquids,  from  champagne  in  tumblers  to  cura9oa 
in  wine-glasses,  was  tremendous. 

The  party  from  Westhope  had  driven  down  in  a break, 
in  which  a seat  had  been  offered  to  Walter  Joyce  by  Lady 
Hetherington  herself,  who  had  condescended  to  visit  the 
library  for  the  express  purpose.  It  happened,  however, 
that  the  secretary  was  specially  engaged  on  an  important 
letter,  which  it  was  necessary  should  be  despatched  that 
day,  so  that  he  was  compelled  to  ask  to  be  allowed  to  find 
his  own  way  to  the  lake.  When  he  arrived,  there  was 
already  a large  gathering,  the  bank  was  lined  with  spec- 
tators, and  there  was  a tolerably  large  number  of  skaters. 
Lord  Hetherington,  wrapped  in  an  enormous  fur  coat, 
with  a hood  hanging  half-way  down  his  back,  was  stand- 
ing looking  on  with  a somewhat  melancholy  expression. 
It  had  just  occurred  to  him  that  skating  was  a pleasant 
pastime,  that  to  skate  well  was  a thing  of  which  a 
man  might  reasonably  be  proud;  at  the  same  time  he 
realised  the  fact  that  it  was  a thing  impossible  to  be 
done  by  proxy — he  could  not  get  any  man  to  skate  for 
him  and  give  him  the  credit  of  it.  Colonel  Tapp,  cleaner 
shaved  and  waxier  moustached  than  ever,  stood  by  his 
lordship.  The  colonel  did  not  skate — not  that  he  could 
not ; in  his  youth  he  had  been  a proficient  in  the  art,  but 
he  was  not  in  his  youth  now,  and  was  so  strapped,  and 
busked,  and  laced  into  his  various  garments,  outer  and 
inner,  that  he  feared  if  by  mischance  he  fell  it  might 
either  be  impossible  for  him  to  get  up  at  all,  or  something 
might  give  way  and  cause  him  to  be  raised  in  a limp  and 
unpresentable  condition.  Mr.  Biscoe  had  no  such  qualms, 
and  was  buckling  on  his  skates  with  all  his  characteristic 
impetuosity — old-fashioned  skates,  cumbrous  with  wood- 
work, and  with  curly  tops,  very  different  from  the  light 
and  elegant  trifles  in  which  handsome  little  Mr.  Boyd  was 


“ HE  L0YE8  ME  ; HE  LOVES  ME  NOT.”  173 

performing  all  sorts  of  figures  before  the  countess  and  a 
group  of  ladies  gathered  together  on  the  bank,  and  trying 
to  look  as  if  they  were  interested  and  amused. 

“ Charmin’  scene ! ” said  Lord  Hetherington,  survey- 
ing the  lake  in  a birdlike  fashion,  with  his  head  on  one 
side.  “ Quite  charmin’ ! Whenever  I see  ice  and  that 
kind  of  thing,  always  reminds  me  of  some  humorous 
adventures  I once  read  in  a book  ’bout  man  on  the  ice ; 
Pickwinkle,  or  some  such  name.  ’Commonly  humorous 
book,  to  be  sure ! ” and  his  lordship  laughed  very  heartily 
at  his  reminiscences. 

“ You  mean  Pickwick,  my  lord,”  said  the  colonel. 
“ Ah  ! I hope  what  happened  to  him  won’t  happen  to 
any  of  our  party,  specially  our  fair  friends  who  are  pirou- 
etting away  there  so  prettily.  If  you  recollect  the  ice 
broke  and  Mr.  Pickwick  got  a ducking.  How’s  the  ice, 
Boyd  ? ” to  the  boy  who  came  spinning  to  the  edge  at 
the  moment. 

“ First  class,  colonel ; couldn’t  be  in  better  form ; it’s 
as  hard  as  nails  and  as  slippery  as — as  old  boots,”  said  Mr. 
Boyd,  after  hesitating  an  instant  for  an  appropriate 
simile. 

“ Ah  ! but  just  keep  up  this  end,  will  you  ? ” said  Mr. 
Biscoe,  looking  up,  his  face  purple  with  the  exertion  of 
pulling  at  a refractory  strap.  “ I was  past  here  yesterday 
morning  and  saw  that  at  the  other  end  the  men  had 
broken  up  the  ice  for  the  deer  or  the  waterfowl,  and  con- 
sequently what’s  there  is  only  last  night’s  frost,  binding 
together  the  floating  bits  of  yesterday,  and  likely  to  be 
very  rotten.” 

“ Better  have  a board  with  ‘ Dangerous  ’ or  somethin’ 
of  that  sort  written  on  it  and  stuck  up,  hadn’t  we  ? ” sug- 
gested Lord  Hetherington,  with  Serpentine  reminiscences. 

“ Scarcely  time  to  get  one  prepared,  my  lord,”  replied 
Mr.  Biscoe,  with  a slight  smile.  “ Here,  two  of  you  men 
take  a rope  and  lay  it  across  the  ice  just  below  that  alder 
tree — that’ll  warn  ’em ; and  you,  Boyd,  tell  ’em  all  to  keep 
above  that  line.  No  good  having  any  bother  if  one  can 


174 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


prevent  it.”  And  Mr.  Biscoe  hobbled  down  the  bank 
and  shot  away  across  the  lake,  returning  in  an  instant, 
and  showing  that  if  his  skates  were  old-fashioned,  he 
could  keep  pace  with  any  of  the  }7oung  ones  notwith- 
standing. 

“ Nice  exercise — very,”  said  the  colonel,  who  was  get- 
ting so  cold  that  he  was  almost  prepared  to  risk  the 
chance  of  a tumble,  and  44  have  a pair  on.”  44 1 do  like  to 
see  a woman  skating ; there’s  something  in  it  that’s — 
ah ! ” and  the  old  colonel  kissed  the  tips  of  his  fingers, 
partly  to  warm  them,  partly  to  express  his  admiration. 
44  Now,  who  is  that  in  the  brown  velvet  trimmed  with 
fur  ? — she  seems  to  know  all  about  it.” 

44  That’s  my  sister  Caroline,”  said  his  lordship,  looking 
through  his  double  glass.  44  Yes,  she  skates  capitally, 
don’t  she  ? Pretty  dress,  too ; looks  like  those  people  in 

the  pictures  outside  the  polkas,  don’t  it  ? Who’s Oh, 

Mr.  Joyce!  Plow  d’ye  do,  Mr.  Joyce?  My  secretary; 
very  decent  young  man,  that.” 

The  colonel  merely  coughed  behind  his  buckskin 
glove.  He  did  not  think  much  of  secretaries,  and  shared 
Jack  Cade’s  opinion  in  regard  to  the  professors  of  the  arts 
of  reading  and  writing.  Just  then  Lady  Caroline  ap- 
proached the  bank. 

44  Colonel,  are  you  inclined  to  back  the  service  in 
general  and  your  own  regiment  in  particular  ? Mr.  Patey 
and  I are  going  to  have  a race.  Of  course  he  gives  me  a 
long  start.  Will  you  bet?” 

44  Too  delighted  to  have  the  chance  of  losing,”  said  the 
colonel  with  old-fashioned  gallantry.  44  And  I’ll  give 
odds,  too — a dozen  pairs  to  half-a-dozen. — Patey,  sustain 
the  credit  of  the  corps  in  every  particular.” 

44  Depend  on  me,  colonel,”  said  Mr.  Patey,  a long- 
limbed  lieutenant  of  untiring  wind.  44  Mr.  Boyd,  take 
Lady  Caroline  to  her  place,  and  then  start  us.” 

Walter  Joyce  had  heard  none  of  this  colloquy.  He 
had  joined  Mr.  Biscoe,  with  whom  he  had  formed  a great 
friendship,  and  was  showing  him  how  to  shift  from  the 


“ HE  LOVES  ME  ; HE  LOVES  ME  NOTV 


175 


outer  edge  of  an  “ eight,”  and  shoot  off  into  a 44  spread 
eagle,” — an  intricate  movement  requiring  all  your  atten- 
tion,— when  he  heard  a sharp  crack,  followed  by  a loud 
shout.  Without  a word  they  dashed  off  to  the  other  end 
of  the  lake  where  the  crowd  was  greatest.  Joyce  arrived 
first.  What  he  saw  was  a large  pool  of  water  where  ice 
had  been ; floating  on  it  a small  round  velvet  cap  trimmed 
with  fur.  He  looked  hastily  round.  She  was  not  there — ■ 
then  he  knew  what  had  occurred. 

At  that  instant  his  arm  was  seized  by  Mr.  Biscoe,  who 
whispered — 

“ Wait,  man  ! They’re  fetching  the  rope  ! ” 

“ Stand  back,”  he  cried,  “ it’d  be  too  late ! Let  me 
go ! ” and  the  next  instant  he  was  diving  beneath  the 
floating  fragments  of  the  ice. 

44  It  was  as  near  as  a toucher,”  Mr.  Boyd  said  ; and  he 
was  right.  When  they  pulled  him  in,  Joyce’s  arm,  which 
had  been  wound  round  Lady  Caroline,  had  nearly  given 
way,  and  the  hand  with  which  he  had  clung  to  the  ice- 
edge  was  all  bruised  and  bleeding.  Just  as  they  were 
lifted  on  shore  he  thought  he  saw  her  lips  moye.  He  bent 
his  head,  and  heard  one  word — “ Walter  l” — then  he 
fainted. 


176 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


CHAPTER  XYII. 

BECOMING  INDISPENSABLE. 

“ Master  will  be  glad  to  see  you,  miss,  in  the  library,  if 
you  pleased 

“Very  good,  Wilson.  Is  Mr.  Creswell  alone?” 

“Mr.  Radford,  the  agent  from  Brocksopp,  have  been 
with  him  for  the  last  half-hour,  miss ; but  he’s  on  the 
point  to  go.  I saw  him  getting  on  his  gloves  as  I left  the 
room.” 

“ Very  good ; tell  Mr.  Creswell  I will  be  with  him  at 
once.” 

The  servant  retired,  closing  the  door  behind  her,  and 
Marian  was  left  alone  with  her  mother.  They  were  in 
what  they  had  become  accustomed  to  call  “ their  own  ” 
sitting-room,  with  its  bright  chintz  furniture  and  tasteful 
appointments,  as  Marian  had  described  them  in  her  letter 
to  Walter.  It  was  tolerably  early  morning,  just  after  ten 
o’clock,  and  the  sun  lit  up  the  garden  and  the  grass-plot, 
from  which  the  slight  frost  had  not  yet  disappeared, 
though  the  snowdrops  and  the  crocuses  were  already 
showing  their  heads  in  the  flower-borders,  while  the 
ditch-banks  of  the  neighbourhood  were  thick  with  pro- 
mised crops  of  violets  and  primroses.  Mrs.  Ashurst, 
whose  infirmities  seemed  greatly  to  have  increased  within 
the  past  six  months,  was  sitting  by  the  fire  with  her  face 
turned  towards  the  window,  enjoying  the  brightness  of 
the  morning ; but  her  back  was  turned  to  the  door,  and 
she  had  not  caught  the  servant’s  message. 

“ What  was  that  Martha  said,  my  dear  ? ” she  asked. 
“ My  hearing’s  getting  worse,  I think.  I miss  almost 
everything  that’s  said  now.” 

“You  had  your  back  towards  her,  dear  mother ; and 
you  were  too  pleasantly  occupied  looking  at  the  bright 
weather  outside,  and  thinking  that  we  should  soon  be 


BECOMING  INDISPENSABLE. 


177 


able  to  get  you  out  for  a turn  up  and  down  the  long  walk, 
in  the  sun.  Martha  came  to  say  that  Mr.  Creswell  wanted 
to  see  me  in  the  library.” 

“ Again,  Marian  ? Why,  you  were  with  him  for  hours 
— when  was  it  ? — the  day  before  yesterday.” 

“ Yes,  mother  ; you’re  quite  right.  I was  there,  help- 
ing him  with  his  accounts.  But  there  was  some  informa- 
tion which  had  to  be  supplied  before  we  could  finish  them. 
I suppose  he  has  obtained  that  now,  and  we  can  go  on 
with  our  work.” 

“ You’re  a clever  child,  my  dear,”  said  the  old  lady, 
fondly  stroking  her  daughter’s  shining  hair. 

“ There’s  more  use  than  cleverness  in  what  I’m  doing 
for  Mr.  Creswell,  darling  mother.  Don’t  you  remember 
how  I used  to  make  out  the  boarders’  bills  for  poor  papa, 
and  the  ‘ general  running  account  ’ to  be  submitted  half- 
yearly  to  the  governors  ? These  are  larger  and  more 
intricate  matters,  of  course,  dealing  as  they  do  with  the 
amount  and  sources  of  Mr.  Creswell’s  income  ; but  I think 
I have  mastered  the  method  of  dealing  with  them,  and 
Mr.  Creswell,  I imagine,  thinks  so  too.” 

“ It  must  be  a very  large  income,  my  dear,  to  keep  up 
all  this  place,  and ” 

“ Large ! You  have  no  conception  of  it,  mother.  I 
had  no  conception  of  it,  nor  of  how  it  came  in,  and  grew, 
and  is  for  ever  growing,  until  it  was  before  me  in  black 
and  white.  Original  funds,  speculations,  mortgages,  in- 
vestments in  this  and  that,  in  ships  and  wharves  and 

breweries,  in  foreign  railroads,  and Ah  ! good  heavens, 

it’s  enough  to  turn  one’s  brain  to  think  of.” 

And  the  girl  pressed  her  forehead  with  her  hands,  and 
stood  motionless. 

“Yes,  my  dear,”  said  the  old  lady,  stretching  out  her 
hand,  and  drawing  her  daughter  gently  towards  her. 
“I’ve  thought  more  than  once  that  this  house  with  its 
surroundings  was  scarcely  the  best  school  for  a young  girl 
who  had  to  face  poverty,  and  battle  for  her  livelihood. 
And,  indeed,  I’m  far  from  thinking  that,  even  so  far  as 

N 


178 


WRECKED  IN  TORT. 


I’m  concerned,  it  was  wise  that  we  should  originally  have 
come  here,  or  that  we  should  have  stayed  so  long.  I wish 
you  would  propose  about  Mrs.  Swainson’s  lodgings  again, 
Marian,  for ” 

‘ For  Heaven’s  sake,  don’t  mention  Mrs.  Swainson’s 
horrid  lodgings  again,  mother.  Are  you  tired  of  your 
visit  here  ? ” 

“ No,  my  dear,  not  in  the  least ; I’m  very  happy,  as 
happy  as  I ever  expect  to  be  again  in  this  wamld ; but  I 
know  there’s  such  a thing  as  outstaying  your  welcome, 
and ” 

“ Who  has  been  putting  such  ideas  into  your  head  ? 
Not  those  horrible  girls ! They  have  nothing  to  do  with 
the  arrangements  of  the  house,  they — there,  I always  lose 
my  head  when  I think  or  speak  of  them ! ” 

“ You  do  indeed,  Marian ; I cannot  imagine  how  it  is 
that  you  and  Maude  and  Gertrude  don’t  get  on  together. 
You  always  seem  to  blaze  up  like  I don’t  know  what, 
especially  you  and  Maude  ! No,  my  dear,  the  young  ladies 
have  always  hoped  we  should  stay  on,  but  that  of  course 
is  impossible,  and — ^ ” 

“ Perhaps  not  impossible,  mother  ! ” 

“ Why  not,  my  dear?  Do  you  think  that Oh  no, 

thank  you  ! I guess  what  you  mean ; I’m  an  old  wofiian, 
I know,  but  I’ve  still  my  faculties  left,  and  I can  see 
through  a millstone  as  well  as  most  people  of  my  age,  and 
though  I’m  not  apt  to  be — I forget  the  word,  but  you 
know  what  I mean — I declare  once  for  all  I won’t  do  it ! ” 
“ Won’t  do  what,  mother?  I declare  I have  no  notion 
what  you  mean.” 

“Oh  yes,  you  have,  Marian.  You  heard  what  Dr. 
Osborne,  whom  I never  could  abide,  but  that’s  neither 
here  nor  there,  suggested  about  my  becoming  Mrs.  Caddy, 
or  rather  Mrs.  Caddy’s  successor,  when  she  went.  I’m 
sure  you,  who  talk  of  having  a spirit  and  a proper  pride, 
ought  to  see  that  I couldn’t  do  that ! Your  poor  lather 
wouldn’t  rest  in  his  grave  if  he  knew  it ! You  remember 
he  never  would  let  me  do  anything  with  the  boys’  clothes. 


BECOMING  INDISPENSABLE. 


179 


or  hair-brushes,  or  that— always  would  have  a wardrobe 
woman;  and  now  to  think  of  my  becoming  a house- 
keeper  ” 

“ But,  mother — there ! you  shall  not  worry  yourself 
with  that  idea  any  more,  and  still  we  won’t  think  just  yet 
of  Mrs.  Swainson’s  nasty  lodging ! Kiss  me  now,  and  let 
me  go ! I’ve  been  keeping  Mr.  Creswell  waiting  full  ten 
minutes.” 

What  change  had  come  over  Marian  Ashurst  to  cause 
her  to  speak  in  this  way  to  her  mother  with  flushed  cheek, 
and  kindling  eye,  and  elated  look?  What  hope  was  dawn- 
ing over  the  deep  of  that  black  blank  sunless  future,  which 
she  had  seen  before  her  in  all  its  miserable  intensity,  its 
unavoidable  dead  level  gloom,  when  first  she  arrived  on  a 
visit  at  Woolgreaves?  What  was  the  vision  which  during 
all  that  period,  but  especially  since  Tom  Creswell’s  death, 
had  haunted  her  waking  and  sleeping,  in  company  and  in 
solitude,  had  been  ever  present  to  her  thoughts,  and  had 
wrung  her  heart  and  disturbed  her  mental  peace  more 
keenly  even  than  the  thought  of  poverty,  the  desire  for 
wealth?  Dare  she  do  it?  She  could,  she  had  but  little  doubt 
of  that,  but  little  doubt  of  Mr.  CreswelPs  daily  increasing 
dependence  on  her  and  regard  for  her.  There  was  no  one 
else  in  the  world  now  in  whom  he  seemed  to  take  the 
slightest  interest.  He  had  been  deeply  grieved  at  his  son’s 
death,  laid  up  for  weeks  afterwards — one  would  have 
thought  that  life  for  him  had  lost  all  its  zest  and  flavour ; 
but  lately,  in  going  through  his  business  details  with 
Marian,  he  had  referred  to  the  dead  lad  almost  calmly,  and 
had  spoken  of  him  almost  as  he  used  to  speak  of  him  in  the 
days  when  his  brusquerie  and  bad  style  and  consequent 
unpopularity  were  gall  and  wormwood  to  his  father’s  heart. 
She  was  thoroughly  and  entirely  essential  to  him.  He  had 
told  her  so.  He  had  said  plainly  enough  that  with  no  one 
else,  no  paid  hirelings,  no  clerk,  however  trustworthy  or 
confidentially  employed,  could  he  have  gone  through  the 
private  accounts,  which  showed  the  sources  of  his  revenue 
and  its  investment,  and  which  had  dropped  into  almost 


180 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


hopeless  confusion  and  arrear,  from  which  they  were  only 
rescued  by  her  quick  apprehension,  clear  business  know- 
ledge, and  indefatigable  industry.  He  sat  by  in  mute 
wonder,  as  she  seized  upon  each  point  as  it  was  laid  before 
her,  and  stopped  him  in  the  midst  of  his  verbose  and 
clumsy  explanation,  to  show  how  clearly  she  comprehended 
him,  and  how  lightly  she  undertook  the  unravelment  of 
matters  which  seemed  to  him  almost  hopeless  in  their 
chaotic  disarrangement. 

What  a wonderful  girl  she  was,  Mr.  Creswell  thought, 
as  he  looked  at  her  poring  over  the  items  of  account  as  he 
read  them  out  to  her,  and  marked  the  sudden  manner  in 
which  her  cheek  flushed  and  her  bosom  heaved  and  her 
eye  dilated,  while  that  ready  pen  never  ceased  in  its  noise- 
less course  over  the  paper.  How  thoroughly  natural  to  be 
able  to  throw  herself  so  entirely  into  the  work  before  her, 
to  take  evident  interest  in  what  would  be  to  others  the 
driest  detail,  mere  husk  and  draff  of  soulless  business!  He 
knew  nothing  of  Marian  Ashurst,  less  than  nothing.  That 
dry  detail  and  those  soulless  figures  were  to  her  more 
interesting  than  the  finest  fiction,  the  most  soul-stirring 
poetry.  For  they  meant  something  much  better  than 
fiction ; they  meant  fact — wealth,  position,  everything. 
She  remembered,  even  as  she  jotted  down  from  Mr.  Cres- 
well’s  loose  memoranda  or  vague  recollections  of  sums 
invested  here  or  securities  lying  there,  or  interest  payable 
at  such  and  such  dates — she  remembered  how,  as  a child, 
she  had  read  of  Sinbad’s  visit  to  the  Valley  of  Diamonds, 
and  how,  in  one  of  the  few  novels  she  had  come  across  in 
later  life,  she  had  been  breathlessly  interested  in  the 
account  of  the  treasure  in  Monte  Christo’s  grotto.  Those 
delights  were  fictional,  but  the  wealth  recorded  in  her 
own  handwriting  before  her  own  eyes  was  real — real,  and, 
if  she  mistook  not,  if  the  golden  dreams  had  not  warped 
her  intellect  and  dazzled  her  brain,  enjoyable  by  her. 
Thoroughly  enjoyable,  not  as  a miserable  dependent  per- 
mitted to  bask  in  the  rays  of  prosperity,  but  as  the 
originator  of  the  prosperity  itself,  the  mistress  of  the 


BECOMING  INDISPENSABLE. 


181 


fortune — the No  wonder  her  cheek  flushed;  she 

felt  her  brain  throb  and  her  head  whirl ; the  magnitude 
of  the  stakes,  the  chances  of  success  appalled  her.  She 
had  never  realised  them  before,  and,  while  they  were 
beginning  to  dawn  on  her,  the  desperate  effect  of  her 
proposed  end  upon  one  who  had  hitherto  been  loved  by 
her  she  had  steadfastly  contrived  to  ignore. 

If  she  dared  to  do  it  ? Why  should  she  not  dare ; 
what  was  it  to  dare,  after  all  ? Was  she  to  lose  her  chance 
in  life,  and  such  a chance,  simply  because  as  a girl  she 
had  agreed  to  a foolish  contract,  which,  as  it  seemed,  it 
was  impossible  could  ever  be  fulfilled?  Was  her  youth 
to  be  sacrificed  to  a preposterous  engagement,  which,  if 
it  was  ratified  at  all,  could  only  be  ratified  in  grim  middle 
age,  when  all  power  of  enjoying  life  would  have  fled,  even 
if  the  hope  of  anything  to  enjoy  were  then  vouchsafed 
her?  She  knew  too  well  that  people  would  be  ready 
enough  to  bring  accusations  against  her,  but  of  what  could 
they  accuse  her?  Of  selfishness?  but  it  would  not  be 
merely  for  her  own  self-advancement  that  she  would  take 
advantage  of  the  opportunity  that  offered  for  bettering 
her  position  in  life.  Her  mother  was  thoroughly  depen- 
dent upon  her,  and  the  past  few  months  had  made  a 
wonderful  difference  in  her  mother’s  physical  condition. 
With  plenty  of  comfort  and  attention,  with  a command 
of  certain  luxuries  and  the  power  of  remaining  perfectly 
quiescent,  knowing  that  there  was  not  the  smallest  occa- 
sion for  mental  disquietude,  Mrs.  Ashurst’s  life  might  last 
for  some  time,  but  the  smallest  mental  worry  would 
probably  be  fatal.  This  Dr.  Osborne  had  said,  and  it 
behoved  Marian  to  think  of  her  mother  before  any  one 
else  in  the  world. 

And  yet — and  yet?  Was  it  all  to  be  forgotten  and 
stamped  out,  that  one  halcyon  time  of  her  existence,  that 
one  period  in  which  she  had  ceased  to  think  of  the  struggle 
for  living,  and  to  love  life  for  being  as  it  was?  Was  that 
one  green  oasis  where  she  had  rested  so  pleasantly,  for- 
getful of  the  annoyances  past,  not  caring  for  the  dangers 


182 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


to  come,  as  slie  lay  beside  the  bubbling  fountain  of  Hope, 
and  drank  of  its  pure  waters — was  tliat  to  be  swallowed 
up  in  tbe  world’s  simoom,  and  to  vanish  with  every  trace 
obliterated  ? Or  was  it  but  a mere  mirage,  unsubstantial 
and  unreal  ? As  she  battled  with  herself  she  pressed  her 
eyes  tightly  with  her  hands,  and  endeavoured  to  recall 
those  scenes  of  her  life.  She  would  see  her  lover,  modest, 
earnest,  hopeful,  delighted  at  his  so-far  success,  sanguine 
as  to  that  which  was  to  come.  She  would  remember  the 
cheery  manner  in  which  he  would  meet  her  doubts,  the 
calm  self-reliance,  never  degenerating  into  bravado,  with 
which  he  spoke  of  their  future  as  perfected  by  his  efforts. 
Eeminiscences,  looks,  tones,  each  had  their  effect  upon  her. 
Then  she  would  think  of  that  future,  even  when  painted 
as  glowingly  as  in  Walter’s  fervent  expectation.  And 
what  was  it  ? Genteel  poverty  at  its  best.  The  coming 
together  of  two  hearts  in  a cheap  lodging,  with  a necessity 
for  watching  the  outlay  of  every  sixpence,  and  a short 
career  of  starved  gentility  as  the  coming  result  of  a long 
life  of  labour  and  waiting.  And  to  give  up  all  she  had 
in  prospect,  all  she  had  in  command,  she  might  almost 
say,  for  this — — Poor  Walter,  poor  Walter  ! what  would 
he  do  ? All  his  whole  life  was  bound  up  in  her,  in  her  his 

every  thought  centred.  How  would  he Wait,  though  ! 

She  was  not  so  sure  of  what  she  was  saying.  Who  was 
this  Lady  Caroline  Somebody  of  whom  he  wrote  so 
strongly  ? Two  or  three  times  he  had  mentioned  her  in 
his  letters.  Marian  recollected  having  smiled  at  Walter’s 
first  description  of  this  great  lady,  who,  though  he  tried 
to  disguise  it,  had  evidently  been  struck  with  him ; but 
now  she  seized  on  the  idea  with  quite  a different  object  in 
view.  Suppose  she  should  carry  out  what  she  had  in  her 
mind,  it  would  be  expedient  for  her  to  show  to  the  world 
— to  such  portion  of  the  world  as  chose  to  be  inquisitive  or 
indignant  about  her  proceedings — that  all  shame,  so  far  as 
breaking  off  the  original  engagement  was  concerned,  did 
not  rest  with  her,  that  Walter  himself  had  not  kept  faith 
with She  broke  off  the  thread  of  her  thought  abruptly, 


BECOMING  INDISPENSABLE. 


183 


she  could  not  battle  with  herself,  she  knew  how  vain  and 
ridiculous  the  accusation  would  be,  how  the  object  of  it 
would  shake  it  from  him  with  scorn ; but  it  had  a certain 
semblance  of  truth  and  likelihood,  and  it  would  do  to 
bring  forward,  in  case  any  such  defence  was  ever  needed. 

“ Well,  missy,”  said  Mr.  Creswell,  looking  up  from 
the  papers  on  which  he  was  engaged,  “ you  see  I’ve  been 
compelled  to  send  for  my  assistant ; I couldn’t  get  on 
without  her.” 

“Your  assistant  is  only  too  glad  to  come  when  she 
finds  she  can  be  of  use  to  you,  sir.  Has  the  pass-book 
come  from  the  bank,  and  did  you  get  those  returns  you 
asked  for  from  the  Wharfdale  Company  ? ” 

“ What  a memory  you  have,  child ! I declare  I had 
forgotten  what  had  stopped  our  work  the  other  morning. 
I remembered  only  that  you  would  have  gone  on  until  you 
dropped,  but  for  want  of  material.  Yes,  they  are  both 
here.” 

“ I see ; and  the  totals  both  approximate  to  the  sums 
you  mentioned.  There  will  be  no  difficulty  now  in  pre- 
paring the  rough  balance-sheet.  Shall  I begin  that  at 

O 5) 

once  ? 

“No,  no,  missy ; tliat  is  too  large  an  undertaking  for 
you.  I’ll  have  that  done  down  at  the  office.  I’m  only 
too  thankful  to  you  for  the  assistance  you’ve  rendered  me 
in  getting  the  items  into  order,  and  in  checking  matters 
which  I could  not  possibly  have  submitted  to  an  unin- 
terested person,  and  which  I’m — well,  I’m  afraid  I must 
say  it — too  old  to  go  into  myself ! ” 

“Since  you  praise  me,  I have  a right  to  claim  a 
reward,  and  I demand  to  be  allowed  to  carry  out  my  work 
to  the  end.  I shall  be  proud  of  it,  proud  to  think  that, 
when  next  these  accounts  are  gone  through,  you  will  be 
able  to  look  at  mine,  and  see  that  they  do  no  discredit  to 
your  book-keeping  pupil.” 

There  was  a slight  change  in  Mr.  Creswell’s  voice  as 
he  said — 

“ My  child,  I don’t  suppose  this  task  will  occur  again 


184 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


in  my  lifetime.  It  would  have  stood  over  well  until  my 
poor  boy  came  of  age,  had  it  pleased  God  to  spare  him ; 
but  I have  only  done  it  now  from  a renewal  of  the  old 
stock-taking  habit,  a desire  to  see  how  my  worldly  affairs 
stood  before ” 

But  the  voice  broke,  and  the  sentence  was  left  un- 
finished. 

“ But  surely,  sir,  it  must  be  a source  of  pride,  and  of 
pleasure  too,  to  you,  being,  as  you  have  often  pointed  out 
to  me,  the  architect  of  your  own  fortunes,  to  have  this 
convincing  proof  of  their  stability  and  your  success  ? ” 

“ Success ! my  dear  child ; pride ! pleasure ! Ah, 
missy,  a man  must  have  lived  but  a small  life,  if  towards 
the  end  of  it  he  looks  for  pride  and  pleasure  in  the  amount 
of  his  balance  at  his  bankers’,  or  for  his  success  in  having 
heaped  up  more  money  than  his  fellows ! ” 

“No;  not  in  that  entirely,  of  course  ; but  in  having 

carried  out  the  main  idea  of  his  life,  and ” 

“ The  main  idea  of  my  life ! that  was  in  existence  but 
a very  little  while,  missy ! The  main  idea  of  my  life  was 
to  make  my  poor  Jenny  a good  husband,  and  afterwards 
— when  the  boy  was  born — to  leave  him  a good  ,and 
honoured  name.  Both  those  hopes  are  extingusihed  now, 
Marian.  The  first  went  years  ago,  the  last — you  know 
when.  And  this,”  pointing  with  his  pen  to  the  bank- 
book in  front  of  him — “ this  has  no  power  to  fill  their 
place.” 

Both  were  silent  for  some  minutes  ; then  Marian  said, 
“You  have  shown  me  how  silly  I was  to  speak  as  I 
spoke  just  now.” 

“ My  child,  you  spoke  as  a child  ; as  one  who  has  never 
known — who,  please  God,  never  will  know — the  vanity  of 
such  resources  as  those  in  time  of  trouble.” 

“ I spoke  as  one  who  has  known  sorrow,  Mr.  Ores  well, 
but  who  also  has  known,  and  who  never  can  too  gratefully 
acknowledge,  the  kindness  of  friends  who  were  willing 
and  able  to  help  her.  I think,  I am  sure,  it  will  be 
a source  of  satisfaction  to  you  to  remember  that  your 


BECOMING  INDISPENSABLE. 


185 


position  enabled  you  to  soften,  very  much  to  soften,  the 
severity  of  the  blow  which  so  recently  fell  upon  my 
mother  and  myself.” 

44  There,  indeed,  you  show  me  some  use  in  what  you 
are  pleased  to  call  my  4 position.’  It  is  long  since  I have 
experienced  such  gratification  as  in  being  enabled  to  show 
some  neighbourly  civility  to  the  wife  and  daughter  of  my 
old  friend.  Even  if  you  had  been  personally  very  different 
from  what  you  are,  I should  have  been  pleased  to  do  it  in 
remembrance  of  him ; but  your  mother  is  the  gentlest 
and  the  most  amiable  creature  in  the  world,  while  as  for 


He  paused  for  an  instant,  and  her  heart  beat  high. 
Only  for  an  instant ; she  resumed  her  normal  respiration 
as  he  laid  his  hand  softly  on  her  head,  and  said,  44  If  I had 
had  a daughter,  child,  I could  have  wished  her  not  one 
whit  different  from  you.” 

She  was  quite  calm  again,  as  she  said,  44 1 am  so 
pleased  to  hear  you  say  that,  sir ; for  as  you  know,  there 
are  few  to  give  me  that  affection  which  you  truly  describe 
as  being  the  only  thing  worth  living  for.  And  I am  so 
glad  that  I have  been  able  to  be  of  use  to  you,  and  to  have 
shown  you,  in  a very  poor  way  indeed,  how  grateful  I am 
to  you  for  all  your  kindness  to  us  before  we  leave  you.” 

44  Leave  me,  Marian  ? What  are  you  talking  of,  child  ? ” 
44  The  fact,”  she  replied,  with  a sad  smile — 44  the  dire 
hated  fact.  We  must  go,  sooner  or  later;  and  it  is  the 
best  for  me — for  us,  I mean — that  now  it  should  be  sooner. 
We  have  remained  here  longer  than  we  intended,  many 
weeks  longer,  owing  to — to  circumstances ; and  we  have 
been,  oh,  so  happy!  Now  we  must  go,  and  it  will  bo 
better  for  us  to  look  the  fact  in  the  face,  and  settle  down 
in  Mrs.  Swainson’s  lodgings,  and  begin  our  new  life.” 

Mr.  Creswell’s  face  had  grown  very  white,  and  his  hands 
were  plucking  nervously  at  his  chin.  Suddenly  a light 
seemed  to  break  in  upon  him,  and  he  said,  44  You  won’t 
go  until  you’ve  finished  the  balance-sheet  ? Promise  me 
that.” 


186 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 

“ No,”  said  Marian,  looking  him  straight  in  tire  face, 
u I’ll  finish  that — I promise  you.” 

44  Very  good.  Now  leave  me,  my  dear.  This  unex- 
pected news  has  rather  upset  me.  I must  be  alone  for  a 
little.  Good-bye  ! God  bless  you  ! ” And  he  bent,  and 
for  the  first  time  in  his  life  kissed  her  forehead.  44  You — 
you  won’t  forget  your  promise  ? ” 

44  You  may  depend  on  me,”  said  Marian  as  she  left  the 
room. 

Outside  the  door,  in  the  bay-window  where  she  had 
held  her  colloquy  with  Dr.  Osborne  on  the  night  of  Tom’s 
death,  were  Maude  and  Gertrude,  seated  on  the  ottoman, 
one  at  work,  the  other  reading.  Neither  of  them  spoke 
as  Marian  passed  ; but  she  thought  she  saw  a significant 
look  pass  between  them,  and  as  she  descended  the  stairs 
she  heard  them  whispering,  and  caught  Maude’s  words : 
44 1 shouldn’t  wonder  if  poor  Tom  was  right  about  her, 
after  all.” 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

THE  RUBICON. 

Of  course  Walter  Joyce  was  a hero  of  heroes  for  days  after 
the  ice-accident.  Lady  Hetherington  for  the  time  being 
threw  off  every  semblance  of  insolence  and  patronage, 
complimented  him  in  the  highest  terms  on  his  bravery  and 
presence  of  mind,  and  assured  him  that  he  had  established 
a claim  upon  their  gratitude  which  they  could  never  repay. 
Lord  Hetherington  was  visibly  affected,  and  had  great 
difficulty  in  thanking  his  sister’s  preserver  in  anything 
like  a coherent  manner,  lapsing  into  wild  outbursts  of 
44  Don’t  you  know ! ” and  explaining  that  it  would  be 
impossible  for  him  to  express  the  feelings  and  that  kind  of 
thing  under  which  he  laboured.  The  gentlemen  from  the 


THE  RUBICON. 


187 


barracks,  who  had  hitherto  regarded  “ old  Hetherington’s 
secretary-fellow  ” as  a person  utterly  unworthy  of  notice, 
began  to  think  that  they  had  been  mistaken.  Young 
Patey  sent  a short  account  of  the  incident  to  the  sporting 
paper  of  which  he  was  an  esteemed  correspondent,  and 
made  a mental  note  to  ask  J oyce  to  play  in  a football-match 
which  was  about  to  come  off,  and  of  which  he  had  the 
direction.  Colonel  Tapp  not  merely  assisted  in  carrying 
Joyce’s  senseless  body  to  the  tent,  whereby  he  became 
much  damped  with  drippings,  which  he  nobly  ignored, 
but  sent  off  one  of  the  men  for  the  surgeon  of  the  depot 
and  evinced  an  amount  of  interest  and  attention  very  rare 
in  the  self-sustained  old  warrior.  Mr.  Biscoe  said  very 
little  indeed;  he  had  been  the  only  person  close  to  the 
ridge  of  the  broken  ice,  and  he  might  have  heard  what 
Lady  Caroline  whispered  in  Joyce’s  ear,  and  he  might 
have  formed  his  own  opinion  of  how  matters  stood  from 
what  he  saw  of  them  then.  But  he  said  nothing.  His 
lips  wreathed  into  a peculiar  smile  two  or  three  times  in 
the  course  of  the  evening,  but  nothing  escaped  them ; and 
as  he  was  smoking  his  after-dinner  cigar  in  his  study,  he 
chuckled  in  a manner  which  was  not  to  be  accounted  for 
by  the  perusal  of  anything  in  the  Guardian , which  he  was 
supposed  to  be  reading,  more  especially  as  he  dropped  his 
eyeglass,  lay  down  the  paper,  and  rubbed  liis  hands  with 
intense  enjoyment.  Just  before  he  dropped  asleep,  he 
said — 

44  It’s  a thousand  pities  Joyce  is  not  in  orders  ! He’d 
have  had  Chudleigh  Bectory  when  old  Whiting  goes, 
as  safe  as  possible ; old  Whiting  can’t  live  long,  and 
Chudleigh  must  be  worth  twelve  hundred  a year.” 

“ Mr.  Joyce  have  Chudleigh  ? Why  should  he  have  had 
Chudleigh  ? What  makes  you  think  that,  Bobert  ? ” asked 
the  partner  of  his  joys,  from  the  neighbouring  pillow. 

“ Ah ! what  indeed  ? ” was  all  the  answer  Bobert  made, 
and  was  snoring  in  an  instant. 

What  did  Lady  Caroline  herself  say  ? Very  little.  She 
had  a slight  access  of  fever  for  three  days,  and  kept  her 


188 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


room  for  a week.  Tlie  first  time  Joyce  saw  her  was  in  the 
library,  where  he  was  at  work.  She  came  across  the  room 
with  outstretched  hand,  and  in  a few  very  simple  words  told 
him  she  owed  her  life  to  him,  and  had  come  to  tell  him  so, 
and  to  thank  him  for  it.  She  was  looking  wonderfully 
beautiful ; Joyce  thought  he  had  never  seen  her  to  such 
advantage.  The  usual  pallor  of  her  cheeks  was  relieved 
by  a deep  rose  flush,  her  violet  eyes  were  more  than  ever 
luminous,  and  she  had  departed  from  her  usual  style  of 
coiffure,  her  chestnut  hair  being  taken  off  her  forehead,  and 
gathered  up  in  a huge  plait  at  the  back  of  her  head. 

44  You  recollect  my  first  mention  to  you  of  the  intention 
of  having  that  dreadful  ice-party,  Mr.  Joyce?”  said  Lady 
Caroline,  after  the  first  speeches  of  acknowledgment. 

“ Perfectly;  it  was  in  this  room,  almost  where  we  are 
sitting  now.” 

“ Don’t  you  remember — I hope  you  don’t,  and  if  you 
don’t,  it’s  silly  in  me  to  remind  you,  though  I can’t  help  it 
— that  I had  been  quizzing  you  about  the  way  in  which 
you  remained  devoted  to  your  writing,  and  assured  you 
that  we  should  only  attempt  to  tear  you  away  from  it,  and 
to  get  you  to  join  us  on  one  other  occasion  before  we  went 
to  town,  and  that  was  to  this  skating  affair?  It  would 
have  been  but  a poor  look-out  for  one  of  the  party  if  you 
hadn’t  been  there.” 

“ You’re  giving  me  much  greater  credit  than  I deserve, 
Lady  Caroline ; and  indeed  during  all  the  past  week  I’ve 
felt  that  I’ve  been  placed  in  a false  position  in  the  hero- 
worship  I’ve  received.  It  certainly  happened  that  I got 
to  the  lake  before  Mr.  Biscoe,  and  I was  in  quicker  than 
he,  but  that  was  because  I was  a little  younger,  and 
had  longer  limbs.  But  what  I’ve  done  to  be  made  so 
much  of,  I really  don’t  know ! ” 

“ You’ve  saved  my  life,  Mr.  Joyce — and  won  my 
eternal  gratitude ! ” 

And  again  she  stretched  out  her  hand. 

“ The  last  is  ample  reward  for  the  first,  Lady  Caroline  ! 
No  other  recognition  is  necessary  ! ” 


THE  RUBICON. 


189 


And  he  took  her  hand,  but  be  merely  beld  it  for 
an  instant,  and  bowed  over  it  and  let  it  go.  Did  not  even 
press  it,  never  thought  of  attempting  to  raise  it  to  his  lips. 
Lady  Caroline  withdrew  it  quietly  with  a half  laugh.  He 
was  the  coldest,  most  insensate,  impassible  man  in  the 
world,  she  thought;  clever,  and  with  a great  amount 
of  odd  indescribable  fascination,  but  a perfect  stone. 

He  was  not.  He  was  a simple,  single-minded  man, 
unaccustomed  to  the  ways  of  flirtation,  and  utterly 
uncomprehending  any  of  the  mysteries  of  the  craft.  He 
had  felt  naturally  proud  of  the  notice  which  Lady  Caroline 
had  taken  of  him,  had  written  of  it  to  Marian,  attributing 
it,  as  he  honestly  thought  it  was  due,  to  Lady  Caroline’s 
superior  education  and  greater  love  of  books  attracting 
her  to  him  for  companionship.  He  was  by  no  means 
an  observant  man,  as  but  few  students  are,  but  he  had 
noticed,  as  he  thought,  a certain  amount  of  freedom 
in  manners  generally  at  Westhope,  which  was  very 
different  from  anything  he  had  previously  seen.  He 
ascribed  it  to  the  different  grade  of  society,  and  took  but 
little  notice  of  it.  He  must,  however,  have  been  more 
than  blind  not  to  have  seen  that  in  Lady  Caroline’s 
conduct  towards  him  at  the  time  of  the  accident  there  was 
something  more  than  this  ; that  in  that  whispered  word, 
“ Walter  ! ” and  the  tone  in  which  it  was  whispered,  there 
was  an  unmistakable  admission  of  a sentiment  which  he 
.had  hitherto  chosen  to  ignore,  and  which  he  determined  to 
ignore  still. 

Walter  Joyce  was  but  human,  and  it  would  be  absurd 
to  deny  that  his  vanity  was  flattered.  He  had  a sufficient 
feeling  for  Lady  Caroline,  based  on  gratitude,  and  nur- 
tured by  general  liking,  to  experience  a certain  compunc- 
tion for  her,  placed  as  she  must  inevitably  find  herself  by 
his  mode  of  treatment  of  her , but  regarding  that  mode  of 
treatment  he  had  never  an  instant’s  doubt.  He  had  been 
brought  up  in  far  too  strict  a school  of  honour  ever  to 
palter  with  himself  for  a moment,  much  less  with  any  one 
else.  His  heart  was  in  Marian  Ashurst’s  keeping,  his 


190 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


liege  love,  and  in  not  one  single  pulsation  should  it  be 
false  to  her.  All  this  he  had  thought  out  before  the  inter- 
view with  Lady  Caroline,  and  his  conduct  then  was 
exactly  as  he  had  prescribed  to  himself  it  should  be.  He 
took  no  credit  to  himself  for  his  coldness  and  reserve,  nor 
indeed  did  he  deserve  any,  for  he  felt  as  calmly  and  coldly 
as  he  acted.  There  was  but  one  person  in  the  world  with 
power  to  make  his  heart  leap,  his  pulses  fill,  to  rouse  his 
energy  with  a look,  to  cloud  his  hopes  with  a word.  Why 
was  she  silent,  then  ? She  could  not  know  how  critical 
the  time  might  have  been,  she  should  never  know"  it,  but 
he  felt  that  he  wanted  her  advice,  advice  on  the  general 
questions  of  his  life,  and  he  determined  to  write  to  her  in 
a way  that  should  elicit  it. 

Thus  he  wrote : 

“ Westhope,  Friday. 

“My  dearest  Marian, 

“ I am  still  without  any  news  of  you,  although 
this  is  the  third  letter  I have  written  since  I received  your 
last.  I know  that  you  must  have  been  very  much  and 
very  specially  engaged.  I know,  as  you  will  have 
gathered  from  my  last  hasty  few  lines,  that  poor  Tom 
Creswell  is  dead,  and  I feel  that  you  must  have  been 
called  upon  to  your  utmost  to  play  the  part  of  comforter, 
and  to  bring  your  keen  sympathies  and  busy  brains  into 
active  use  to  restore  something  like  a semblance  of  ordi- 
nary comfort  to  that  disordered  and  desolate  household.- 
That  you  are  the  mainstay  of  the  family  in  their  trouble, 
as  of  course  few  would  be,  I happen  to  know.  Did  I tell 
you  how?  Mr.  Gould,  who  is  Lord  Hetherington’s  prin- 
cipal business  agent,  showed  me  a letter  he  had  had  from 
you,  written  in  Mr.  Creswell’s  behalf,  about  the  impossi- 
bility of  the  poor  old  gentleman’s  carrying  out  some  sale 
of  land,  about  which  he  had  been  previously  negotiating, 
under  the  existing  melancholy  circumstances.  It  seemed 
so  strange  to  see  the  handwriting,  so  familiar,  and  so  dear 
to  me,  addressed  to  another ; treating  of  business  topics, 
and  yet  conveying  information,  which  was  surely  interest- 


THE  RUBICON. 


191 


ing  to  me,  but  of  which  I was  yet  ignorant.  However, 
you  had  your  duty  to  do  to  the  people  who  had  been  so 
kind  to  you,  and  who  ha,d  done  much  more  than  their  duty 
by  you  during  the  time  of  your  trials,  and  I,  who  know 
you  so  well,  have  no  doubt  that  you  have  done  it,  not 
merely  in  the  letter  but  in  the  spirit. 

“ I suppose  that  by  this  time  the  first  shock  of  grief 
will  have  passed  away,  and  that  the  household  at  Wool- 
greaves  will  be  assuming  something  like  its  normal  state, 
and  I presume,  therefore,  that  you  and  Mrs.  Ashurst  will 
be  soon  thinking  of  bringing  your  visit  to  an  end,  even  if 
by  this  time  you  have  hot  already  entered  upon  the 
lodgings  which  you  told  me  you  had  in  view.  I have  no 
doubt  that  if  this  be  so  now,  or  whenever  it  comes,  both 
you  and  Mrs.  Ashurst  will  much  miss  the  material  comfort 
which  you  have  enjoyed  during  the  last  few  months.  It 
is  impossible  that  it  should  be  otherwise,  but  you,  at  all 
events,  have  long  had  a clear  idea  of  your  future,  and  so 
long  as  you  are  with  her  I do  not  fear  Mrs.  Ashurst’s 
becoming  a prey  to  despair.  The  woman  who  battled  so 
bravely  by  your  dear  father’s  side  is  not  likely  to  give  way 
now  that  the  heat  of  the  contest  is  over,  and  a retreat, 
humble  indeed,  but  sufficient  for  existence,  is  provided  for 
her.  I should  almost  rather  fear  the  effect  of  the  change 
upon  you.  I should  very  much  fear  it  if  I laid  much 
stress  upon  the  opinions  with  which  the  last  letter  I 
received  from  you  was  rife,  opinions  breathing  the  very 
essence  of  worldly  philosophy,  but  scarcely  such  as  one 
would  expect  to  find  in  a young  girl’s  letter  to  her  lover. 
However,  I do  not  lay  much  stress  on  these  opinions; 
I know  that  it  is  the  fashion  just  now  to  affect  a cynicism 
which  is  not  really  felt,  and  to  ascribe  to  one’s  self  faults 
and  follies  which  have  no  substantial  basis.  I am  sure 
that  you  must  have  become  infected  with  this  idea,  and 
that  you  wrote  under  its  influence,  for  nothing  could  be 
more  opposite  than  your  new  doctrine  to  the  teachings  of 
your  youth  and  the  example  of  your  parents. 

“It  is  time,  however,  my  dear  Marian,  that  we  should 


192 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


each  shake  ourselves  free  from  any  little  affectations  or  de- 
lusions which  have  hitherto  possessed  us,  and  make  up  our 
minds  to  look  our  position  resolutely  in  the  face.  I say 
“both  of  us,  because  I am  perfectly  conscious  of  having 
permitted  myself  to  start  in  life  as  the  victim  of  a delusion 
of  a very  different  kind  from  yours.  I was  as  sanguine  as 
you  were  depressed,  and  when,  on  the  day  we  parted,  you 
had  a notion  that  there  was  an  end  to  all  happiness  to  be 
enjoyed  mutually  by  us,  I had  a feeling  that  I was  taking 
my  first  step  towards  the  premiership,  or  the  governorship 
of  the  Bank  of  England.  I pray  God  that  your  idea  vras 
as  baseless  as  mine.  I lmow  that  my  position  can  never  be 
a great  or  a wealthy  one,  that  all  I ever  get  I must  earn 
by  my  handwork,  and  I am  perfectly  content,  so  long  as 
I have  your  approval  of  my  steps,  and  you  yourself  as  my 
reward. 

“ But  we  must  not  dream  any  more,  Marian,  either  of 
us,  and  you,  especially,  must  not  suffer  yourself  again,  for 
whatever  reason,  to  be  tempted  out  of  your  regular  sphere. 
All  your  attention  henceforth  must  be  given  to  the  joint 
interests  which  must  be  paramount  in  your  heart.  Life 
progresses,  dear.  How  the  months  have  slipped  away 
since  we  parted ! and  we  must  not  let  youth  and  health 
and  all  that  is  best  pass  out  of  it,  and  leave  us  still  pur- 
suing a flying  shadow,  and  waiting  for  better  days  till  we 
shall  come  together.  Not  now,  or  ever,  will  I take  any 
step  as  regards  my  future  without  your  counsel  and 
consent,  considering  as  I do  that  that  future  is  yours  as 
much  as  mine.  But  I want  to  be  assured  of  your  hearty 
interest  and  desire  for  co-operation  in  my  affairs,  Marian. 
I feel  sure  I have  it ; I know  it  is  almost  absurd  in  me  to 
doubt  its  existence,  but  I have  been  so  long  away  from 
you,  and  you  have  been  so  long  without  writing  to  me, 
that  I long  to  read  the  assurance  in  your  own  hand. 
What  would  I not  give — if  I had  anything,  poor  wretch! 
— to  hear  it  from  your  lips!  but  that  is  impossible 
just  yet. 

“ Now,  what  we  have  to  think  of  is  definite  and 


THE  RUBICON. 


193 


pressing.  I must  give  a decisive  answer  within  a week, 
and  you  will  see  the  hearing  and  importance  of  that 
decisive  answer  on  our  future.  I believe  I could  stay  on 
here  for  any  time  I chose.  The  big  history-book,  though 
I work  hard  at  it  every  day,  is  as  yet  only  in  its  com- 
mencement, and  I am  told  that  when  the  family  goes  to 
town  next  week  I am  to  accompany  them,  and  to  devote 
my  time  in  London  to  purely  secretarial  work,  correcting 
my  lord  in  his  speeches,  writing  his  letters,  etc.,  while  the 
history  of  the  Wests  is  to  remain  in  abeyance  until  the 
autumn.  Everybody  is  particularly  kind  to  me,  and  had 
I never  4 lifted  my  eyes  to  my  master’s  daughter,’  like  the 
’prentice  of  old,  I might  have  been  very  happy  here.  But 
I have  other  hopes  in  view,  and  a married  private  secre- 
tary would  be  impossible.  It’s  lucky,  then,  that  there 
is  another  opening — yes,  Mariau,  a new  chance,  which, 
I think,  promises,  splendidly  promises,  to  realise  all  we 
have  hoped — all  I have  hoped  for,  all  you  can  have  justly 
anticipated — speedy  union  for  us  both,  under  decent  com- 
petence when  united.  Listen. 

44  My  old  friend  Byrne,  of  whom  you  heard  so  much 
when  I was  in  London,  wrote  to  me  some  time  since, 
telling  me  that  my  name  had  been  suggested  as  the  corre- 
spondent then  required  for  a London  newspaper  in  Berlin. 
I thought  but  little  of  it  at  the  moment,  for  though, 
thanks  to  old  Dr.  Breitmann,  in  the  dear  old  days  at 
Helmingham,  I knew  myself  to  be  a tolerable  German 
scholar,  I doubted  whether  I had  sufficient  4 nous  ’ and 
experience  of  the  world  for  the  post.  I wrote  this  to 
Byrne,  and  I think  he  was  rather  of  my  opinion ; but  the 
man  with  whom  the  recommendation  rested,  and  who 
knew  me  from  having  met  me  constantly  during  those 
weeks  I was  living  with  Byrne,  and  knew  also  some  of  my 
qualifications,  as  it  was  through  him  I obtained  those  odd 
jobs  on  the  press,  declared  that  I would  be  the  very  man 
for  their  purpose,  and  has  so  pressed  the  matter  that  I have 
agreed  to  let  them  have  their  answer  with  my  decision  in 
a week’s  time.  For  that  decision  I come  to  you.  They 

o 


194 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


offer  me  a year’s  engagement  to  start  with,  with  the 
certainty  of  renewal  if  I fulfil  their  expectations,  and 
four  hundred  a year,  with  the  prospect  of  a rise.  Four 
hundred  a year,  Marian,  and  in  a country  where  money 
goes  much  further  than  in  England  ! Four  hundred 
a year,  and  we  united  for  ever,  and  dear  Mrs.  Ashurst — ■ 
for,  of  course,  she  will  he  with  us — with  a son  as  well  as 
a daughter  to  tend  and  care  for  her ! Now  you  see  why 
I made  the  commencement  of  my  letter  rather  sombre 
and  gloomy,  in  order  to  heighten  the  brilliancy  of  the 
finish.  Now  you  see  why  I talked  about  the  lodgings  and 
the  privations — because  there  is  no  need  to  submit  to  any 
of  them. 

“Marian  darling,  you  must  answer  this  instantly! 
I have  no  doubt  as  to  the  tone  of  your  reply,  but  I can  do 
nothing  until  I get  it,  and  time  presses.  Don’t  be  afraid 
of  any  ill-feeling  on  the  part  of  Lord  Hetherington  or 
any  one  here.  I have  been  able  to  render  them  something 
of  a service — I will  tell  you  about  it  when  we  meet — and 
they  will  all  be  delighted  at  anything  which  brings  good 
fortune  to  me.  And  now  good-bye ! Think  how  little 
time  now  before  I shall  hold  you  in  my  arms  ! Write  at 
once.  God  bless  you,  now  and  ever. 

“ Your  Walter.” 

Sunday  morning  at  Woolgreaves  ; bright  splendid  sun- 
shine, the  frost  all  gone,  and  Nature,  renovated  by  her  six 
months’  sleep,  asserting  herself  in  green  bud  and  lovely 
almond  blossom,  and  fresh  sprouting  herbage  on  every 
side.  Far  away  on  the  horizon  lay  Brocksopp,  the 
week-day  smoke  cloud,  which  no  wind  dispelled,  yet 
hovering  like  a heavy  pall  over  its  sabbath  stillness ; but 
the  intervening  landscape  was  fresh  and  fine,  and  calcu- 
lated to  inspire  peaceful  thoughts  and  hopeful  aspirations 
in  all  who  looked  on  it.  Such  thoughts  and  such  aspira- 
tions the  contemplation  of  the  scene  inspired  in  old  Mrs. 
Ashurst,  who  sat  propped  up  by  pillows  in  a large  easy- 
chair  in  her  sitting-room,  gazing  out  of  the  window,  look- 


THE  RUBICON. 


195 


ing  at  nothing,  but  enjoying  everything  with  the  tranquil 
serenity  of  old  age.  For  several  years  past  there  had  not 
been  much  life  in  the  old  lady,  and  there  was  very  little 
now ; her  vital  powers,  never  very  strong,  had  been  decay- 
ing slowly  but  surely,  and  Dr.  Osborne  knew  that  the  time 
was  not  far  distant  when  the  widow  of  his  old  friend 
would  be  called  away  to  rejoin  the  husband  she  had  so 
dearly  loved  in  the  Silent  Land. 

“ A case  of  gradual  decay,  my  dear  sir,”  said  the  little 
doctor,  who  had  been  up  all  night,  bringing  the  heir  of  a 
neighbouring  squire  into  the  world,  and  who  had  stopped 
at  Woolgreaves  on  his  way  home,  and  asked  for  breakfast 
— a meal  which  he  was  then  taking  in  company  with  his 
host ; 44  what  we  call  the  vis  vitse  quietly  giving  way.” 

44  And  by  what  I gather  from  you,  doctor,  I fear  our 
old  friend  will  not  be  much  longer  with  us  ? ” 

44  It  is  impossible  to  say,  but  I should  think  not.  Sad 
thing  for  the  daughter ; she’s  very  much  attached  to  her 
mother,  and  will  feel  the  loss  very  much.  Wonderful  girl 
that,  sir ! ” 

44 Miss  Ashurst?  She  is,  indeed!”  said  Mr.  Creswell 
abstractedly. 

44  Such  a clever  head,  such  individuality,  such  dominant 
will ! Let  her  make  up  her  mind  to  a thing  and  you  may 
consider  it  done  ! Charming  girl,  too ; simple,  unaffected, 
affectionate.  Dear  me ! I think  I can  see  her  now,  in 
frilled  trousers,  bowling  a hoop  round  the  schoolhouse 
garden,  and  poor  Ashurst  pointing  her  out  to  me  through 
the  window ! Poor  Ashurst ! dear  me  ! ” 

Dr.  Osborne  pulled  out  a green  silk  pocket-handker- 
chief ornamented  with  orange  spots,  buried  his  face  in  it, 
and  blew  a loud  and  long  note  of  defiance  to  the  feelings 
which  were  very  nearly  making  themselves  manifest. 
When  he  reappeared  to  public  gaze,  Maude  and  Gertrude 
had  entered  the  room,  and  the  conversation  took  a different 
turn.  The  young  ladies  thought  it  a lovely  morning,  so 
fresh  and  nice,  and  they  hoped  they  would  have  no  more 
of  that  horrid  winter,  which  they  detested.  Yes,  they  had 


196 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


seen  dear  Mrs.  Ashurst,  and  she  seemed  much  the  same,  if 
anything  a little  brighter  than  last  night,  but  then  she 
always  was  brighter  in  the  mornings.  Miss  Ashurst  had 
gone  for  a turn  round  the  garden,  her  mother  had  said. 
And  did  uncle  remember  that  they  must  go  to  Helmingham 
Church  that  morning?  Oh  ! Dr.  Osborne  didn’t  know  that 
Hooton  Church  was  going  to  be  repaired,  and  that  there 
would  not  be  service  there  for  three  or  four  Sundays.  The 
snow  had  come  through  on  to  the  organ,  and  when  they 
went  to  repair  the  place  they  found  that  the  roof  was  all 
rotten,  and  so  they  would  have  to  have  a new  roof.  And 
it  was  a pity,  one  of  the  young  ladies  thought,  that  while 
they  were  about  it  they  didn’t  have  a new  clergyman 
instead  of  that  deaf  old  Mr.  Coulson,  who  mumbled  so  you 
couldn’t  hear  him.  And  then  Dr.  Osborne  told  them  they 
would  be  pleased  at  Helmingham  Church,  for  they  had  a 
new  organist,  Mr.  Hall,  and  he  had  organised  a new  choir, 
in  which  Miss  Gill’s  soprano  and  Mr.  Drake’s  bass  were 
heard  to  the  greatest  effect.  Time  to  start,  was  it  not  ? 
Uncle  must  not  forget  the  distance  they  had  to  walk.. 
Yes,  Maude  would  drive  with  Dr.  Osborne  with  pleasure. 
She  liked  that  dear  old  pony  so  much.  She  would  be 
ready  in  an  instant. 

Marian  went  with  the  rest  of  the  party  to  church,  and 
sat  with  them  immediately  opposite  the  head-master’s  seat,, 
where  she  had  sat  for  so  many  years,  and  which  was 
directly  in  front  of  the  big  school  pew.  What  memories 
came  over  her  as  she  looked  across  the  aisle ! Her  eyes 
rested  on  the  manly  figure  and  the  M.B.  waistcoat  of  Miv 
Bentlrall,  who  sat  in  the  place  of  honour ; but  after  an 
instant  he  seemed  to  disappear  as  in  a dissolving  view,  and 
there  came  in  his  place  a bowed  and  shrunken  elderly  man, 
with  small  white  hands  nestling  under  his  ample  cuffs,  all 
his  clothes  seemingly  too  large  for  him,  big  lustrous  eyes, 
pale  complexion,  and  iron-gray  hair.  No  other  change  in 
the  whole  church,  save  in  that  pew.  The  lame  man  who 
acted  as  a kind  of  verger  still  stumped  up  the  pulpit-stairs, 
and  arranged  the  cushion,  greatly  to  the  horror  of  the 


THE  RUBICON. 


197 


preacher  of  the  clay,  Mr.  Trollope,  who,  being  a little  man, 
eould  hardly  be  seen  in  the  deep  pulpit,  and  whose  soft 
little  voice  could  scarcely  be  heard  out  of  the  mass  of  wood 
and  cotton  velvet  in  which  he  was  steeped  to  the  ears. 
The  butcher,  who  was  also  churchwarden  and  a leading 
member  of  the  congregation,  still  applied  to  himself  all  the 
self-accusatory  passages  in  the  responses  in  the  Psalms,  and 
gave  them  out,  looking  round  at  his  fellow-parishioners,  in 
a tone  of  voice  which  seemed  to  say,  “ See  what  an  infernal 
scoundrel  I am,  and  how  I delight  in  letting  you  know  it ! 99 
The  boys  in  the  school  were  in  the  same  places — many  of 
them  were  the  same  boys;  and  the  bigger  ones,  who  had 
been  in  love  with  Marian  when  she  lived  among  them, 
nudged  each  other  as  she  came  in,  and  then  became  scarlet 
from  their  clean  collars  to  the  roots  of  their  freshly  poma- 
tumed hair.  Fresh  faces  nowhere  but  there.  Change  in 
no  life  but  hers.  Yes,  as  her  eye  rested  on  Mr.  Creswell’s 
solemn  suit  of  black  she  remembered  that  life  had  changed 
also  for  him.  And  somehow,  she  could  scarcely  tell  how, 
she  felt  comforted  by  the  thought. 

They  left  the  church  when  the  service  was  ended,  but 
it  was  some  time  before  they  were  able  to  start  on  their 
way  home.  Mr.  Creswell  came  so  seldom  into  Helming- 
ham,  that  many  of  his  old  acquaintances  s^tw  him  there  for 
the  first  time  since  his  wife’s  death,  and  came  to  offer 
their  long-deferred  condolence,  and  to  chat  over  matters  of 
local  gossip.  Marian,  too,  was  always  a welcome  sight  to 
the  Helmingham  people,  and  the  women  gathered  round 
her  and  asked  her  about  her  mother’s  health,  and  of  their 
prospects,  and  when  they  were  going  to  leave  Wool- 
greaves;  to  all  of  which  questions  Marian  replied  with 
perfect  self-possession  and  without  giving  her  querists  any 
real  information. 

At  last  they  set  out  homeward.  Maude  and  Gertrude 
started  off  at  a rapid  rate,  and  were  soon  out  of  sight. 
Mr.  Creswell  and  Marian  walked  quietly  on  together,  talk- 
ing on  various  subjects.  Mr.  Creswell  was  the  principal 
speaker,  Marian  merely  answering  or  commenting  on 


198 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


wliat  he  said,  and,  contrary  to  her  usual  custom,  never 
originating  a subject.  Her  companion  looked  at  her 
curiously  two  or  three  times  during  their  walk ; her  eyes 
were  downcast,  her  forehead  knit,  and  there  was  a 
generally  troubled  expression  in  her  face.  At  length, 
when  they  had  nearly  reached  their  destination,  and  had 
turned  from  the  high-road  into  the  Woolgreaves  grounds 
through  a private  gate,  he  said — 

“You  are  strangely  silent  to-day,  missy.  Has  any- 
thing happened  to  vex  you  ? ” 

4 4 To  vex  me  ? Nothing  in  the  world.  And  it  had  not 
even  struck  me  that  I was  particularly  silent.  It  seems  to 
me  as  though  we  had  been  talking  ever  since  we  left 
Helmingham.55 

44  We?  I,  you  mean.  You  have  been  almost  mono- 
syllabic in  your  replies.5’ 

44  Have  I ? That  was  scarcely  polite  when  you  take 
the  trouble  to  talk  to  me,  my  kind  friend.  The  fact  is 
that  I have  been  in  a kind  of  day-dream,  I believe.55 

44  About  the  future,  Marian?55  Mr.  Creswell  said  this 
so  earnestly  that  the  girl  looked  up  into  his  face.  His 
eyes  fell  before  hers  as  she  said,  steadily — 

44 No;  about  the  past.  The  sight  of  the  school  pew, 
and  of  another  person  there  in  papa’s  place,  called  up  all 
sorts  of  recollections,  which  I was  revolving  instead  of 
listening  to  you.  Oh  no  ! 55  she  added,  after  a pause ; 44 1 
love  dreaming  of  the  past,  because,  though  it  has  here  and 
there  its  dim  hues  and  its  one  great  and  ineffaceable 
shadow  of  papa’s  loss,  it  was,  on  the  whole,  a happy  time. 

But  the  future 55  and  she  stopped  suddenly,  and 

shuddered. 

“You  have  no  pleasant  anticipations  of  the  future, 
Marian  ? 55  asked  Mr.  Creswell  in  a lower  tone  than  he  had 
hitherto  spoken  in. 

44  Can  you  ask  me — you  wdio  know  me  and  know  how 

we  are  circumstanced  ? I declare  I There ! I'm 

always  apt  to  forget  myself  when  this  subject  is  broached, 
and  I speak  out  without  thinking  how  uncalled  for  and 
ridiculous  it  is.  Shall  we  walk  on  ? 55 


THE  RUBICON. 


199 


“Not  for  an  instant.  I wanted  to  say  a few  words  to 
yon.  I was  talking  to  Dr.  Osborne  this  morning  about 
Mrs.  Ashurst.” 

“ About  mamma  ? ” 

“ The  doctor  said  what  cannot  fail  to  have  struck  you, 
Marian,  who  are  so  devotedly  attached  to  your  mother  and 
so  constantly  in  attendance  on  her — that  a great  change 
has  recently  come  over  her,  and  that  she  is  much  more 
feeble  and  more  helpless  than  she  used  to  be.  You  have 
noticed  this  ? ” 

“I  have  indeed.  Dr.  Osborne  is  perfectly  right. 
Mamma  is  very  much  changed.5’ 

“ It  is  obviously  necessary  that  she  should  not  feel  the 
loss  of  any  little  comfort  to  which  she  may  have  been 
accustomed.  It  is  most  essential  that  her  mind  should 
not  be  disturbed  by  any  harassing  fears  as  to  what  might 
become  of  you  after  she  was  gone.” 

Marian  was  silent.  Her  face  was  deadly  pale,  and  her 
eyes  were  downcast. 

“ There  is  only  one  way  of  securing  our  first  object,” 
continued  Mr.  Creswell,  “ and  that  is  by  your  continuing 
in  this  house.” 

“ That  is  impossible,  Mr.  Creswell.  I have  already 
explained  to  you  the  reason.”  1 

“ Not  impossible  in  one  way,  Marian — a way  too  that 
will  secure  the  other  object  we  have  in  view — your 
mother’s  peace  of  mind  about  you.  Marian,  will  you 
remain  in  this  house  as  its  mistress — as  my  wife  ? ” 

It  had  come  at  last,  the  golden  chance  ! She  knew  that 
he  understood  she  had  accepted  him,  and  that  was  all. 
Mr.  Creswell  went  on  rapturously,  telling  her  how  his 
love  had  grown  as  he  had  watched  her  beauty,  her  charm- 
ing intelligence,  her  discretion,  and  her  worth ; how  he 
had  been  afraid  she  might  think  he  was  too  old  for  her ; 
how  she  should  prove  the  warmth  of  his  affection  and  the 
depth  of  his  gratitude.  All  this  he  said,  but  she  heard 
none  of  it.  Her  brain  was  running  on  her  having  at  last 
achieved  the  position  and  the  wealth  so  long  a source  of 


200 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


bitter  misery  and  despair  to  her.  The  end  was  gained ; 
now  life  would  indeed  be  something  to  her. 

When  they  reached  the  house,  Mr.  Creswell  wanted  to 
go  with  her  at  once  to  Mrs.  Ashnrst’s  room ; but  Marian 
begged  to  be  alone  for  a few  moments,  and  parted  with 
him  at  the  door.  As  she  passed  through  the  hall  she  saw 
a letter  lying  on  the  table  addressed  to  her.  It  was  the 
letter  from  Walter  Joyce. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

Marian’s  reply. 

Marian  held  the  letter  in  her  hand  for  a moment,  irreso- 
lute whether  to  open  it  and  read  it  at  once,  or  to  defer 
its  perusal  until  another  opportunity,  when  her  mind 
might  be  less  perturbed,  and  the  feeling  of  conscious  guilt 
then  uppermost  in  her  soul  might  have  become  quieted 
and  soothed  down.  She  was  fully  alive  to  the  knowledge 
that  she  had  behaved  with  the  blackest  treachery  to 
Walter  Joyce,  had  dealt  him  the  severest  stab,  the  dead- 
liest blow,  of  which  she  was  capable,  had — for  the  time 
at  least — completely  blackened  his  future  prospects ; and 
yet,  although  he  had  done  nothing  to  deserve  this  base 
treatment — on  the  contrary,  had  been  for  ever  loyal  and 
devoted  to  her  under  the  most  adverse  circumstances — her 
feeling  for  him  was  not  one  of  pity,  of  regret,  or  even  of 
contempt,  but  of  downright  hatred.  She  knew  that  she 
had  been  seriously  to  blame  in  neglecting  all  corres- 
pondence with  her  lover  of  late,  and  she  imagined  that 
the  letter,  which  she  still  held  unopened  in  her  hand,  was 
doubtless  one  of  remonstrance  or  complaint.  He  had  no 
right  now  to  address  her  after  such  fashion,  or  indeed 
after  any  fashion  whatever.  This  last  thought  struck 


MARIAN  S REPLY. 


201 


her  for  an  instant  with  a touch  of  tenderness,  but  she 
quickly  put  it  aside  as  she  thrust  the  letter  into  the  bosom 
of  her  dress,  and  made  her  way  to  her  mother’s  room. 

She  found  Mrs.  Ashurst  seated  in  the  bay-window,  at 
the  little  round  table,  on  which  lay  her  large-printed 
Bible,  her  bottle  of  smelling-salts,  and  her  spectacle-case. 
Mrs.  Ashurst  had  always  been  a small-framed,  delicate- 
featured  woman,  but  in  these  last  few  months  she  seemed 
to  have  shrunk  away  almost  to  nothing.  The  light  steel 
frame  of  her  spectacles  looked  disproportionately  heavy 
on  her  thin  nose,  and  her  sunk  pallid  face,  with  the  com- 
plexion of  that  dead  white  colour  so  often  seen  in  old 
women,  was  almost  lost  in  the  plaits  and  frills  of  her 
neat  cap.  Though  the  day  was  fine  and  bright  outside, 
the  old  lady  evidently  felt  the  cold ; she  wrore  a thick 
twilled  woollen  shawl  thrown  over  her  shoulders,  and  hei 
cosy  armchair  was  in  the  full  view  of  the  fire.  She 
looked  up  as  Marian  entered,  and,  when  she  recognised 
the  visitor,  gave  a little  smile  of  welcome,  took  off  her 
spectacles,  closed  her  book,  and  put  up  her  face  for  her 
daughter’s  kiss. 

“ What  a long  time  you  have  been  away,  dear ! ” she 
said,  in  the  softest  little  voice.  “ I thought  you  were 
never  coming  back ! I was  wondering  what  had  become 
of  you ! ” 

“ Did  you  think  Dr.  Osborne  had  run  off  with  me  in 
the  four-wheeler,  mother  ? ” said  Marian,  smiling.  “ The 
knight  and  his  means  of  flight  are  about  equally  romantic ! 
We’re  later  than  usual,  dear,  because  Hooton  Church  is 
closed  for  repairs,  and  we’ve  been  to  Helmingham  ! ” 

“ Yes,  I know  that ; but  Maude  and  Gertrude  went  to 
Helmingham  too,  didn’t  they?  And  I’m  sure  I’ve  heard 
their  voices  about  the  house  this  half-hour  ! ” 

“ There  were  all  sorts  of  Helmingham  people  to  speak 
to  in  the  churchyard  after  service — Mrs.  Simmons,  who  is 
growing  quite  gray ; and  old  Mrs.  Peak,  whose  feet  are 
very  bad  again,  so  bad  that  she  can  hardly  get  about  now, 
poor  soul ; and  young  Freeman  and  young  Ball,  who  have 


202 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


taken  Mr.  Smyth’s  corn-chandlery  business  at  Brocksopp, 
and  go  over  there  next  week ; and  Sam  Baker,  who  is  very 
much  grown,  and  of  whom  Mr.  Benthall  speaks  very 
highly.  They  all  asked  very  kindly  after  yon,  mother  ! ” 
“ I’m  very  much  obliged  to  them,  my  dear.  I shan’t 

trouble  them  long,  and ” 

“ Now,  don’t  you  remember  your  promise  never  to  talk 
in  that  way  again  ? ” 

“Well,  my  dear,  I won’t  if  you  don’t  like  it.  As  for 
myself — however,  no  matter ! And  did  you  walk  back 
with  Mr.  Creswell  ? ” 

“ Yes,  mother.  Maude  and  Gertrude  hurried  on,  and 
Mr.  Creswell  and  I came  leisurely  after.” 

“ You’ll  become  quite  old-fashioned  if  you’re  so  much 
with  Mr.  Creswell,  Marian.  Though  why  I say  ‘become/ 
I’m  sure  I don’t  know.  You’ve  always  been  old-fashioned 
from  a child  up.” 

“ And  am  likely  to  remain  so,  dear,  to  all  appearances!” 
said  Marian,  with  a soft  smile,  bending  down  and  kissing 
her  mother’s  forehead.  “Have  you  taken  your  medicine? 
No  l then  let  me  give  it  to  you  ! ” She  went  to  a small 
cabinet,  and  brought  out  a tumbler  and  a spoon. 

“ I’m  very  glad  you  thought  of  the  medicine,  Marian,” 
said  the  old  lady ; “ not  that  it  does  me  the  least  good,  let 
Dr.  Osborne  say  what  he  may,  but  because  your  fetching 
those  things  from  that  place  reminded  me  of  something 
I wanted  to  say  to  you.  I’ve  been  all  this  morning — ever 
since  I finished  reading  the  lessons — I’ve  been  going 
through  the  furniture  in  that  parlour  of  Mrs.  Swainson’s 
in  my  mind,  and  I’m  perfectly  certain  there’s  nothing,  not 
even  a common  cupboard,  to  lock  up  anything ! ” 

“ Isn’t  there,  mother  ? ” said  Marian  wearily. 

“Isn’t  there?  No,  indeed  there  is  nothing,  dear! 
Though  you  don’t  seem  to  think  much  about  it,  it’s  a very 
serious  thing.  Of  course,  one  would  keep  the  tea  and  sugar 
in  the  caddy,  but  there  are  many  little  odds  and  ends  that 

ought  to  be  locked  up,  and Are  you  listening  to  me, 

Marian  ? ” 


MARIAN  S REPLY. 


203 


“ Yes,  mother,55  she  said,  but  her  looks  belied  her 
words.  She  was  leaning  against  the  mantelpiece,  her 
head  resting  on  her  hand,  and  her  thoughts  were  evidently 
far  away. 

“ I wonder  you  had  not  noticed  that,  Marian,  when  we 
went  over  the  lodgings,55  pursued  Mrs.  Ashurst.  “ You’re 
generally  such  a one  to  notice  these  kind  of  things,  and 
I’ve  been  used  to  depend  upon  you,  so  that  I think  nothing 
about  them.  What  shall  we  do  about  that?  I suppose 
Mrs.  Swainson  would  not  be  inclined  to  buy  a cabinet — 

a second-hand  one  would  do  perfectly 55 

“I  don’t  think  we  need  go  into  the  question.  We 
shall  never  go  to  Mrs.  Swainson’s  lodgings  ! 55 
“ No  ? What  shall  we  do,  then  ? 55 
“ Remain  here  ! 55 

“ Well,  my  dear,55  said  the  old  lady,  “ if  you  change 
your  plans  so  often,  how  am  I possibly  to  know  where 
we’re  going,  or  what  we’re  going  to  do  ? Not  that  I want 
to  be  consulted,  but  I really  might  as  well  be  a chair  or  a 
table  for  the  manner  in  which  I am  treated.  I thought 
you  said,  not  more  than  a fortnight  ago,  that  it  was 
impossible  we  could  stop  here  any  longer ! ” 

“So  I did,  mother ; but  circumstances  have  changed 
since  then.  This  morning,  as  we  walked  from  church, 
Mr.  Creswell  asked  me  to  become  his  wife.” 

“ His  wife  ! Mr.  Creswell ! you  to — and  you  accepted 
him  ? ” 

“I  did!” 

The  old  lady  fell  back  in  her  chair,  her  eyes  closed, 
her  hands  fluttering  nervously  before  her.  Marian  ran  to 
her  mother  and  knelt  by  her  side,  but  Mrs.  Ashurst 
revived  almost  immediately — revived  sufficiently  to  place 
her  hand  round  her  daughter’s  neck  and  to  whisper  in  her 
ear,  “ For  my  sake  ? ” 

“ I don’t  understand  you,  dearest  mother.” 

“ For  my  sake  ? You’ve  done  this  for  my  sake  ! that  I 
may  be  comfortable  and  happy  for  the  rest  of  my  life, 
that  I may  have  these  things,  luxuries  ” — pointing  with 


204 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


her  hand  round  the  room.  “ You’ve  sacrificed  yourself! 
It  must  not  he ; listen,  Marian — it  must  not  he  ! ” 

“ Darling  mother,  you’re  all  wrong,  indeed  you  are — 
you’re  quite  mistaken.” 

“ Marian,  it  must  not  he ! I’m  a weakly  woman,  I 
know,  hut  what  answer  should  I make  to  your  dear  father 
when  I meet  him  again — soon  now,  very  soon,  please  God  ! 

- — if  I permitted  this  thing  ! What  would  he  say  if  he 
learned  that  I was  selfish  enough  to  permit  you  to  sacrifice 
yourself,  you  whom  he  so  worshipped,  to  become  the  wife 
of  an  old  man,  in  order  that  I might  profit  hy  it  ? What 
would  he  think  of  Mr.  Creswell,  who  pretended  to  he  his 
friend,  and  who  would ” 

“ Mother,  dearest  mother,  you  must  not  speak  against 
Mr.  Creswell,  please  ! Recollect  he  is  to  be  my  hus- 
band ! ” 

“ Yery  well,  my  dear,”  said  the  old  lady  quietly ; “ I’ll 
ask  you  one  question,  and  after  that  you’ll  never  hear 
me  open  my  lips  on  the  matter.  Do  you  love  Mr.  Cres- 
well ? ” 

“Yes,  mother.” 

“ Better  than  any  other  man  living  ? ” 

“ Ye-yes,  mother.”  She  hesitated  for  an  instant,  but 
the  answer  came  round  and  firm  at  last. 

“You  swear  that  to  me?  ” 

“ Yes,  mother.” 

“ That’s  enough,  my  dear ! I shall  he  ready  to  face 
your  father  now.”  Mrs.  Ashurst  then  removed  her  arm 
from  her  daughter’s  neck  and  lay  hack  in  her  chair. 
After  a minute  or  two  she  told  Marian  she  had  heard  the 
luncheon-gong  sound,  and  that  she  would  prefer  being  left 
alone  for  a little.  When  Marian  came  up  to  kiss  her  before 
leaving  the  room,  the  little  old  lady’s  white  face  became 
suffused  with  a glow  of  colour,  and  the  voice  in  which  she 
prayed  God  to  bless  her  child,  and  keep  her  happy  through- 
out her  life,  was  broken  with  emotion,  and  weaker  and 
fainter  than  ever. 

When  she  was  alone  Mrs.  Ashurst  pondered  long  and 


marian’s  reply. 


205 


earnestly  over  what  she  had  just  heard.  Of  course,  the 
question  of  Marian’s  future — and  to  her  parents  as  well 
as  herself  the  future  of  every  girl  means  her  marriage — 
had  been  often  thought  of  by  her  mother.  She  and  her 
dead  husband  had  talked  of  it  in  the  summer  evenings 
after  supper  and  before  retiring  to  rest,  the  only  time 
which  the  school- work  left  for  James  Ashurst  to  devote 
to  himself,  and  even  then  he  was  generally  rather  fatigued 
with  past,  or  preoccupied  with  growing  work.  It  was 
very  general,  the  talk  between  them,  and  principally 
carried  on  by  Mrs.  Ashurst ; she  had  wondered  when 
Marian  would  marry,  and  whom ; she  had  gone  through 
the  list  of  eligible  young  men  in  the  neighbourhood,  and 
had  speculated  on  their  incomes  and  their  chances  of  being 
thrown  with  Marian  in  such  little  company  as  they  kept. 
She  had  wondered  how  they  at  home  would  be  able  to  get 
on  without  her ; whether  she  herself  would  be  able  to 
undertake  the  domestic  superintendence,  as  she  had  done 
in  the  old  days  before  Marian  was  of  an  age  to  be  useful ; 
whether  Marian  would  not  settle  somewhere  near,  where 
she  might  still  take  an  interest  in  her  old  work,  and  many 
other  odd  and  profitless  speculations,  to  which  the  dominie 
would  give  an  affirmative  or  negative  grunt  or  comment, 
wondering  all  the  while  how  he  was  to  meet  that  accept- 
ance which  he  had  given  to  Barlow,  and  which  became 
due  on  the  twenty-seventh,  or  whether  his  old  college 
chum  Smith,  now  a flourishing  physician  in  Cheltenham, 
would  lend  him  the  fifty  pounds  for  which  he  had  made 
so  earnest  an  appeal.  But  all  this  seemed  years  ago  to 
Mrs.  Ashurst  as  she  thought  of  it.  For  many  months 
before  her  husband’s  death  the  subject  had  not  been 
mooted  between  them ; the  cold  calm  external  impas- 
sibility, and  the  firm  determination  of  Marian’s  character, 
seemed  to  her  mother  to  mark  her  for  one  of  those  women 
destined  by  nature  to  be  single,  and  therefore  somewhat 
fitted  for  the  condition.  A weak  woman  herself,  and  with 
scarcely  any  perception  of  character,  believing  that  nearly 
all  women  were  made  in  the  same  mould  and  after  tlio 


206 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


same  type,  Mrs*  Ashurst  could  not  understand  the  ex- 
istence of  the  volcano  under  the  placid  surface.  Only 
gushing,  giggling,  blushing  girls  fulfilled  her  idea  of 
loving  women,  or  women  lovable  by  men.  Marian  was 
so  “ odd  ” and  “ strange,”  so  determined,  so  strong-minded, 
that  she  never  seemed  to  think  of  love-making,  nor  indeed, 
her  mother  thought,  had  she  been  ever  so  much  that  way 
disposed,  would  she  have  had  any  time  for  it. 

And  now  Marian  was  going  to  be  married ! Years 
rolled  away,  and  the  old  lady  saw  herself  in  the  same 
condition,  but  how  differently  circumstanced  ! Her  James 
was  young  and  strong  and  handsome.  How  splendid  he 
looked  in  his  flannel  boating-dress,  when  he  came  to  spend 
a hurried  holiday  at  her  father’s  river-side  cottage  ! How 
all  the  people  in  the  church  admired  him  on  their  wed- 
ding-day ! It  was  impossible  that  Marian  could  love  this 
man,  who  was  quite  old  enough  to  be  her  father, — love 
him,  that  is,  in  the  proper  way,  in  the  way  that  a husband 
should  be  loved.  She  could  look  up  to  him,  and  respect 
and  reverence  him,  and  so  on ; but  that  was  not  the  way 
in  which  she  had  loved  her  James.  She  had  not  the  least 
respect  for  him,  but  used  to  laugh  at  him  for  his  awkward- 
ness, and  great  strong  clumsy  ways,  never  knowing  what 
to  do  with  his  long  legs  and  his  great  feet,  and  used  to 
call  him  “ a great  goose ; ” she  recollected  that,  and  the 
recollection  brought  the  colour  to  her  face,  and  made  her 
smile  in  spite  of  herself.  Marian  could  never  call  Mr. 
Creswell  “ a great  goose,”  could  never  think  of  him  so 
familiarly,  no  matter  how  long  they  might  be  married. 
What  could  have  brought  it  about  ? She  had  very  good 
eyes,  she  thought,  and  yet  she  had  never  suspected  Mr. 
Creswell  of  any  partiality  for  Marian ; any,  at  least, 
beyond  that  which  a man  in  his  position  and  of  his  age 
might  be  expected  to  feel  for  a bright  intelligent  girl 
with  whom  he  was  thrown  into  frequent  contact.  And  as 
for  Marian,  it  was  the  last  thing  she  should  have  expected 
of  her.  If  she  were  to  think  of  marriage,  which  Mrs. 
Ashurst  never  contemplated,  she  would  not  have  suffered 


MARIAN  S REPLY. 


207 


herself  to  "be  thrown  away  on  a man  so  much  older  than 
herself;  she  would  have  looked  for  some  one  whom  she 
could  love.  No ; it  was  what  had  first  struck  her,  and 
the  more  she  thought  about  it  the  more  convinced  she 
grew.  Marian  had  sacrificed  herself  on  the  shrine  of  filial 
duty;  she  had  accepted  the  position  of  Mr.  Creswell’s  wife 
in  order  that  her  mother  might  be  able  to  continue  in  the 
house  where  all  possible  comforts  and  luxuries  were  at 
her  command.  It  was  a good  motive,  a noble  affectionate 
resolve,  but  it  would  never  turn  out  well,  she  was  sure 
of  that.  There  had  been  a baronet  once  under  James’s 
tuition — what  was  his  name?  Attride,  Sir  Joseph  Attride, 
a young  man  of  rather  w^eak  intellect — who  had  been  sent 
by  his  friends  to  be  what  James  called  “ coached  for  some- 
thing,” and  who  had  a very  large  fortune ; why  did  not 
Marian  take  him,  or  Mr.  Lawrence,  the  miller  and  church- 
warden, who  was  very  rich,  and  took  so  much  snuff? 
Either  of  them  would  have  been  much  more  suited  to  her 
than  Mr.  CreswelL  And  so  the  old  lady  sat — chewing 
the  cud  of  sweet  and  bitter  fancy,  but  always  coming  back 
to  her  proposition  that  Marian  had  sacrificed  herself  for 
her  mother’s  sake — throughout  the  afternoon. 

When  Marian  left  her  mother  she  did  not  take  the 
hint  about  the  luncheon-gong — the  pretence  under  which 
Mrs.  Ashurst  had  asked  to  be  left  to  herself.  She  knew 
that  if  her  absence  from  the  table  were  remarked,  it 
would  be  attributed  to  the  fact  of  her  being  engaged  in 
attendance  on  her  mother.  She  knew  further  that  Mr. 
Creswell  would  not  expect  to  see  her  just  then,  and  she 
calculated  on  having  two  or  three  hours  to  herself  free 
from  all  interruption.  So  she  went  straight  to  her  own 
room,  turned  the  key  in  the  lock,  sat  herself  down  in  a 
low  chair  opposite  the  fire — fires  are  kept  constantly  alive 
in  that  north-midland  county,  where  coals  are  cheap,  and 
the  clay  soil  cold  and  damp — took  Walter  Joyce’s  letter 
from  the  bosom  of  her  dress,  opened,  and  began  to  read  it. 
It  was  a task-work  which  she  had  to  go  through,  and  she 
nerved  herself  as  for  a task-work.  Her  face  was  cold  and 


208 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


composed,  her  lower  jaw  set  and  rigid.  As  she  read  on 
the  rigidity  of  her  muscles  seemed  to  increase.  She 
uttered  no  sound,  hut  read  carefully  every  word.  A 
slight  expression  of  scorn  crossed  her  face  for  a moment 
at  Walter’s  insisting  on  the  necessity  of  their  good  faith 
towards  each  other,  hut  the  next  instant  it  vanished,  and 
the  set  rigidity  returned — returned  hut  to  he  equally  fleet- 
ing, to  he  swept  away  in  a storm  of  weeping,  in  a hurri- 
cane of  tears,  in  a wild  outburst  of  genuine  womanly 
feeling,  showing  itself  in  heaving  hosom,  in  tear-blistered 
face,  in  passionate  rocking  to  and  fro,  in  frenzied  claspings 
of  the  hands  and  tossing  of  the  head,  and  in  low  moaning 
cries  of,  “ Oh,  my  love  ! my  love  ! ” 

It  was  the  perusal  of  the  end  of  Joyce’s  letter  that 
had  brought  Marian  Ashurst  into  this  state ; it  was  the 
realisation  of  the  joy  which,  in  his  utter  devotion  to  her, 
must  have  filled  his  heart  as  he  was  enabled  to  offer  to 
share  what  he  imagined  great  prosperity  with  her,  that 
wrung  her  conscience  and  showed  her  treatment  of  him  in 
its  worst  light.  It  was  of  her  alone  that  he  thought  when 
this  offer  was  made  to  him.  He  spoke  of  it  simply  as  a 
means  to  an  end — that  end  their  marriage  and  the  comfort 
of  her  mother,  whose  burden  he  also  proposed  to  under- 
take. He  said  nothing  of  what  hard  work,  what  hitherto 
unaccustomed  responsibility,  it  would  entail  upon  him ; 
he  thought  but  of  the  peace  of  mind,  the  freedom  from 
worry,  the  happiness  which  he  imagined  it  would  bring 
to  her.  How  noble  he  was ! how  selfless  and  single- 
minded  ! This  was  a man  to  live  and  die  for  and  with 
indeed  ! Was  it  too  late  ? Should  she  go  bravely  and 
tell  Mr.  Creswell  all  ? He  was  sensible  and  kind-hearted, 
would  see  the  position,  and  appreciate  her  motives,  though 
the  blow  would  be  a heavy  one  for  him.  He  would  let 

her  retract  her  consent,  he  would Impossible  ! It  might 

have  been  possible  if  she  had  read  the  letter  before  she 
had  told  her  mother  of  Mr.  Creswell’s  proposal,  but  now 
impossible.  Even  to  her  mother  she  could  not  lay  bare 
the  secrets  of  her  heart,  disclose  the  slavery  in  which  she 


Marian’s  reply. 


209 


was  held  by  that  one  ruling  passion  under  whose  control 
she  had  broken  her  own  plighted  word,  and  run  the  risk 
of  breaking  one  of  the  truest  and  noblest  hearts  that  ever 
beat. 

No;  she  could  not  do  that.  She  was  growing  calmer 
now ; her  tears  had  ceased  to  flow,  and  she  was  walking 
about  the  room,  thinking  the  matter  out.  No  ; even  sup- 
pose— well,  this  proposal  had  not  been  made  : it  would 
have  been  impossible  to  move  Mrs.  Asliurst  in  her  then 
state  to  Berlin,  and  she  could  not  have  gone  without  her ; 
so  that  Walter  must  either  have  gone  alone,  or  the  marriage 
must  have  been  deferred.  And  then  the  income— four 
hundred  a year.  It  was  very  good,  no  doubt,  in  comparison 
to  what  they  had  been  existing  on  since  papa’s  death — 
very  superior  to  anything  they  could  have  expected,  quite 
a sufficiency  for  one  or  two  young  people  to  begin  life 
upon ; but  for  three,  and  the  third  one  an  invalid,  in  a 
foreign  country  ? No ; it  was  quite  impossible.  Marian 
looked  round  the  room  as  she  said  these  words ; her  eyes 
lighted  on  the  bright  furniture,  the  pretty  prints  that 
adorned  the  walls,  the  elegant  ornaments  and  nick-nacks 
scattered  about,  the  hundred  evidences  of  wealth  and  taste 
which  were  henceforth  to  be  at  her  entire  bommand,  and 
repeated,  “ Quite  impossible  ! ” more  decisively  than  before. 
By  this  time  she  was  quite  herself  again,  had  removed 
every  trace  of  her  recent  discomposure,  and  had  made  up 
her  mind  definitively  as  to  her  future.  Only  one  thing 
troubled  her, — what  should  be  her  immediate  treatment  of 
Walter  Joyce?  Should  she  ignore  the  receipt  of  his  letter, 
leave  it  unanswered,  take  the  chance  of  his  understanding 
from  her  silence  that  all  was  over  between  them  ? Or 
should  she  write  to  him,  telling  him  exactly  what  had 
happened — putting  it,  of  course,  in  the  least  objectionable 
way  for  herself?  Or  should  she  temporise,  giving  her 
mother’s  delicate  state  of  health  and  impossibility  of 
removal  abroad  as  the  ground  of  her  declining  to  be  married 
at  once,  as  he  required,  and  beginning  by  various  hints, 
which  she  thought  she  could  manage  cleverly  enough,  to 

p 


210 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


pave  the  way  for  the  announcement,  to  be  delayed  as  long 
as  practicable,  that  their  engagement  was  over,  and  that 
she  was  going  to  marry  some  one  else  ? At  first  she  was 
strongly  inclined  to  act  upon  the  last  of  these  three  motives, 
thinking  that  it  would  be  easier  to  screen  herself,  or  at  all 
events  to  bear  the  brunt  of  Joyce’s  anger  when  he  was 
abroad.  But  after  a little  consideration,  a better  spirit 
came  over  her.  She  had  to  do  what  was  a bad  thing  at 
best;  she  would  do  it  in  the  least  offensive  manner  pos- 
sible,— she  would  write  to  him. 

She  sat  down  at  the  little  ink-bespattered,  old-fashioned 
writing-desk  which  she  had  had  for  so  many  years,  on 
which  she  had  written  so  often  to  her  lover,  and  which 
contained  a little  packet  of  his  letters,  breathing  of  hope 
and  trust  and  deep-rooted  affection  in  every  line,  and 
wrote — 

“ Woolgreaves,  Sunday. 

“My  dear  Walter, 

“ I have  something  to  tell  you  which  you  must 
know  at  once.  I can  approach  the  subject  in  no  round- 
about fashion,  because  I know  it  will  cause  you  a great 
shock,  and  it  is  better  for  you  to  know  it  at  once.  ' I do 
not  pretend  to  any  doubt  about  the  pain  and  grief  which 
I am  sure  it  will  cause  you.  I will  tell  you  my  reasons 
for  the  step  I am  about  to  take  when  I tell  you  what  I 
have  already  done.  Walter,  I have  broken  my  engage- 
ment with  you.  I have  promised  to  marry  Mr.  Cres- 
well. 

“ I write  this  to  you  at  once,  almost  directly  after  he 
proposed  to  me,  and  I have  accepted  him.  Does  it  seem 
harsh  and  coarse  in  me  to  announce  this  to  you  so  imme- 
diately ? Believe  me,  the  announcement  is  made  from  far 
different  motives.  I could  not  bear  to  be  deceiving  you. 
You  will  sneer  at  this,  and  say  I have  been  deceiving  you 
all  along.  I swear  I have  not.  You  will  think  that  the 
very  silence  for  which  you  reproached  me  in  the  letter  just 
received  has  been  owing  to  my  dislike  to  tell  you  of  the 
change  in  affairs.  I swear  it  has  not.  I had  no  idea  until 


Marian’s  reply. 


211 


this  morning  that  Mr.  Creswell  liked  me  in  any  especial 
way ; certainly  none  that  he  would  ever  ask  me  to  become 
his  wife. 

4 4 When  he  asked  me,  I had  not  had  your  letter.  If  I 
had,  it  would  have  made  no  difference  in  the  answer  I made 
to  Mr.  Creswell,  but  it  deepens  the  pain  with  which  I now 
write  to  you,  showing  me  as  it  does,  to  an  extent  which  I 
did  not  before  quite  realise,  the  store  which  you  set  by 
what  is  now  lost  to  us  for  ever.  I do  not  say  this  in  excuse 
of  myself  or  my  deeds ; I have  no  excuse  to  make.  I have 
tried,  and  tried  hard,  to  live  in  the  position  of  life  in 
which  I have  been  placed.  I have  struggled  with  poverty, 
and  tried  to  face  the  future — which  would  have  been  worse 
than  poverty,  penury,  misery,  want  perhaps — with  calm- 
ness. I have  failed.  I cannot  help  it,  it  is  my  nature  to 
love  money  and  all  that  money  brings,  to  love  comforts 
and  luxuries,  to  shrink  from  privation.  Had  I gone  straight 
from  my  father’s  deathbed  to  your  house  as  your  wife, 
I might  perhaps  have  battled  on ; but  we  came  here,  and 
— I cannot  go  back.  You  will  be  far  happier  without  me 
when  your  first  shock  is  over.  I should  have  been  an 
impossible  wife  for  a poor  man,  I know  I should — com- 
plaining, peevish,  irritable ; ever  repining  at  my  poverty, 
ever  envying  the  wealth  of  others.  You  are  better  without 
me,  Walter,  you  are  indeed  ! Our  ways  of  life  will  be  very 
different,  and  we  shall  never  come  across  each  other  in  any 
probability.  If  we  should,  I hope  we  shall  meet  as  friends. 
I am  sure  it  will  not  be  very  long  before  you  recognise  the 
wisdom  of  the  course  I am  now  taking,  and  are  grateful  to 
me  for  having  taken  it.  You  are  full  of  talent,  which  you 
will  now  doubtless  turn  to  good  account,  and  of  worthy 
aspirations,  which  you  will  find  some  one  to  sympathise 
with,  and  share  the  upward  career  which  I am  sure  is 
before  you.  I thought  I could  have  done  as  much  at  one 
time,  but  I know  now  that  I could  not,  and  I should  be 
only  acting  basely  and  wickedly  towards  you,  though  you 
will  not  think  it  more  basely  and  wickedly  than  I am  now 
acting  with  you,  if  I had  gone  on  pretending  that  I could, 


212 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


and  had  burdened  you  for  life  with  a soured  and  discon- 
tented woman.  I have  no  more  to  say. 

“ Marian.” 

“ You  do  not  repent  of  what  you  said  to  me  this  morn- 
ing, Marian  ? ” said  Mr.  Creswell  in  a whisper,  as  he  took 
her  in  to  dinner. 

“ On  the  contrary,”  she  replied  in  the  same  tone,  “I  am 
too  happy  to  have  been  able  to  gratify  you  by  saying  it.” 

“ What  has  happened  with  Miss  A.  ? ” whispered 
Gertrude  to  Maude,  at  the  same  time ; “ I don’t  like  the 
look  in  her  eyes.” 

And  certainly  they  did  look  triumphant,  almost  inso- 
lently so,  when  their  glance  fell  on  the  girls. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

DURING  THE  INTERVAL. 

Saturday  morning,  the  day  after  that  on  which  Joyce  had 
sent  off  the  eventful  letter  to  Marian.  Twelve  o’clock,  and 
no  appearance  as  yet  of  Lady  Caroline  Mansergh,  who  had 
sent  word  that  she  had  a slight  headache,  and  would  take 
her  breakfast  in  her  room.  Lady  Hetherington  hated 
people  having  breakfast  in  their  rooms  : it  did  not,  of 
course,  inconvenience  her  in  the  least ; she  herself  was 
never  particularly  lively  in  the  morning,  and  spoke  very 
little,  and  disliked  being  spoken  to,  so  that  it  was  not  the 
loss  of  companionship  that  she  regretted ; it  was  merely 
what  people  called  a “ fad  ” of  hers,  that  the  household 
generally  should  assemble  at  the  breakfast-table,  and  she 
was  annojTed  when  anything  occured  to  prevent  it. 

Her  ladyship  was  generally  out  of  temper  that 
morning,  several  things  having  conspired  to  disturb  her 
equanimity.  They  were  about  to  move  the  establish- 


DURING  THE  INTERVAL. 


213 


ment  to  London,  which  was  always  a sore  trial  for  her  at 
the  best  of  times ; but  now  that  they  were  going  up 
before  Easter,  it  was  specially  hard  to  bear.  She  had  told 
Lord  Hetherington,  as  she  pathetically  narrated  both 
orally  and  by  letter  to  all  her  friends,  that  it  was  useless 
their  going  to  Hetherington  House  at  that  time  of  the 
year,  when  they  would  find  no  one  in  town  but  members’ 
wives  who  had  come  up  for  the  session,  and  the  wretched 
people  who  live  there  all  their  lives ; there  wouldn’t  be  a 
soul  they  knew,  and  the  draughts  at  Hetherington  House 
were  perfectly  awful ; and  yet  Lord  Hetherington  would 
go  She  could  not  imagine  what  had  come  to  him.  The 
last  morning’s  post  had  brought  her  a letter  from  her 
milliner,  asking  for  money ; and  even  the  greatest  ladies 
sometimes  not  merely  dislike  being  asked  for  money,  but 
have  difficulty  in  finding  it ; and  the  countess’s  stock  of 
ready  cash  happened  to  be  very  low  at  that  moment.  And 
the  new  housekeeper  who  had  come  from  Lady  Rundell 
Glasse’s,  and  who  was  so  highly  recommended,  had  turned 
out  a complete  failure,  and  must  be  got  rid  of  before  they 
go  to  town ; and  old  Mrs.  Mason,  the  town  housekeeper, 
must  be  telegraphed  to  to  look  out  for  some  one  else; 
and  altogether  her  ladyship  was  thoroughly  upset,  and, 
wanting  some  one  to  vent  her  ill-humour  on,  and  having 
lost  her  judgment  as  well  as  her  temper,  thought  she 
would  find  that  some  one  in  Lady  Caroline.  So,  when 
twelve  o’clock  arrived,  and  her  sister-in-law  had  not  put  in 
an  appearance,  the  countess  went  to  her  room,  entered 
upon  her  knock,  and  found  Lady  Caroline  buried  in  a huge 
chair  in  front  of  the  fire  reading  a book,  while  her  maid 
was  combing  her  hair.  There  was  scarcely  anything 
which  Lady  Caroline  liked  better  than  having  her  hair 
combed — not  dressed,  that  she  hated — but  quietly  combed 
and  brushed  alternately.  She  almost  purred  under  the 
sensation,  like  a cat  whose  fur  is  smoothed  the  right  way ; 
it  was  pleasant,  it  was  refreshing,  it  soothed  her,  and  put 
her  on  good  terms  with  the  world  ; so  that  when  she 
looked  up  and  saw  Lady  Hetherington,  to  whom  she  was 


214 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


not  very  partial,  she  received  her  with  a smile,  and 
expressed  her  delight  at  the  visit. 

“ It  is  really  immensely  good  of  you  to  come  and  see 
me,  Margaret,  especially  when  I know  you’re  not  fond  of 
taking  trouble  in  a general  way,”  she  said,  putting  her 
book  on  to  her  lap  and  looking  up  languidly. 

“ They  told  me  you  were  ill,  or  I don’t  know  that 
I should  have  come,”  retorted  Lady  Hetherington  with 
some  asperity. 

“ Ah,  that  was  quite  right  of  them  ; I told  them  to  say 
that. — You  can  go,  Phillips  ” — to  the  maid — “ I’ll  ring 
when  I want  you. — I don’t  suppose  there’s  any  harm  in 
sending  mendacious  messages  by  the  servants ; do  you  ? 
It  would  be  far  more  demoralising  to  them  if  one  were  to 
tell  the  truth  and  say  one  was  lazy,  and  that  kind  of 
thing,  because  it  would  provoke  their  contempt  instead  of 
their  pity,  and  fill  them  with  horrible  revolutionary  ideas 
that  there  was  no  reason  why  they  shouldn’t  be  lazy  as 
well  as  we,  and  all  sorts  of  dreadful  things.” 

“ If  I had  thought  it  was  mere  laziness  that  kept  you 
to  your  room  this  morning,  Caroline,  I think  my  dislike 
4 of  taking  trouble  in  a general  way  ’ would  have  influenced 
me  in  this  particular  instance,  and  saved  you  the  bore  of 
my  interrupting  you.” 

“ That’s  where  you’re  so  ungenerous,  Margaret.  Not 
the  smallest  bore  in  the  world  ; the  stupidity  of  this  book, 
and  Phillips’s  action  with  the  hair-brush  combined,  were 
sending  me  off  to  sleep,  and  you  interfered  at  an  opportune 
moment  to  rescue  me.  How  is  West  this  morning?” 

“Yery  much  as  he  was  last  night.  Intent  on  dis- 
tinguishing himself  on  this — what  do  you  call  it? — 
irrigation  scheme.” 

“ Oh  dear,  still  harping  on  those  channels  and  pipes, 
and  all  the  rest  of  it ! Poor  Mr.  J oyce  ! there  is  plenty  of 
work  in  store  for  him,  poor  fellow.” 

“ Dreadful,  will  it  not  be,  for  that  charming  young 
man  to  be  compelled  to  work  to  earn  his  wages?”  said 
Lady  Hetherington  with  a sneer. 


DURING  THE  INTERVAL. 


215 


Lady  Caroline  looked  up,  half  astonished,  half  defiant. 
“ Salary,  not  wages,  Margaret,55  she  said,  after  a moment’s 
pause. 

“ Salary,  then,55  said  her  ladyship  shortly ; “ it’s  all  the 
same  thing.55 

“ No,  dear,  it  isn’t.  Salary  isn’t  wages ; just  as  the 
pin-money  which  West  allows  you  isn’t  hire.  You  see  the 
difference,  dear?55 

“ I see  that  you’re  making  a perfect  fool  of  yourself 
with  regard  to  this  man ! ” exclaimed  Lady  Hetherington, 
thoroughly  roused. 

“ What  man?”  asked  Lady  Caroline  in  all  apparent 
simplicity. 

“ What  man  ? Why,  this  Mr.  J oyce  ! And  I think, 
Caroline,  that  if  you  choose  to  forget  your  own  position, 
you  ought  to  think  of  us,  and  have  some  little  regard  for 
decency ; at  all  events,  so  long  as  you’re  staying  in  our 
house  ! ” 

“All  right,  dear,”  said  Lady  Caroline  with  perfect 
coolness.  “ I’m  sorry  that  my  conduct  gives  you  offence, 
but  the  remedy  is  easy.  I’ll  tell  West  how  you  feel  about 
it  at  luncheon,  and  I’ll  leave  your  house  before  dinner ! ” 

A home-thrust,  as  Lady  Caroline  well  knew.  The 
only  time  that  Lord  Hetherington  during  his  life  had 
managed  to  pluck  up  a spirit  was  on  the  occasion  of  some 
real  or  fancied  slight  offered  by  his  wife  to  his  sister. 
Tail-lashings  and  roarings,  and  a display  of  fangs  are 
expected  from  the  tiger,  if,  as  the  poet  finely  puts  it,  “ it 
is  his  nature  to.”  But  when  the  mild  and  inoffensive 
sheep  paws  the  ground,  and  makes  ready  for  an  onslaught 
with  his  head,  it  is  the  more  terrible  because  it  is  so 
unexpected.  Lord  Hetherington’s  assertion  of  his  dignity 
and  his  rights  on  the  one  occasion  in  question  was  so 
tremendous  that  her  ladyship  never  forgot  it,  and  she  was 
extremely  unwilling  to  go  through  such  another  scene. 
So  her  manner  was  considerably  modified,  and  her  voice 
considerably  lowered  in  tone  as  she  said — 

“No,  but  really,  Caroline,  you  provoke  me  into  saying 


216 


WRECKED  IN  TORT. 


things  which  you  know  I don’t  mean.  You  are  so 
thoughtless  and  headstrong ” 

“ I never  was  cooler  or  calmer  in  my  life ! You 
complain  of  my  conduct  in  your  house.  It  would  be 
utterly  beneath  me  to  defend  that  conduct,  it  requires  no 
defence,  so  I take  the  only  alternative  left,  and  quit  your 
house.” 

“ No  ; but,  Caroline,  can’t  you  see ” 

“I  can  see  this,  Lady  Hetherington,  and  I shall 
mention  it  once  for  all.  You  have  never  treated  that 
gentleman,  Mr.  Joyce,  as  he  ought  to  be  treated.  He  is 
a gentleman,  in  mind  and  thought  and  education,  and 
he  comes  here  and  does  for  poor  dear  stupid  West  what 
West  is  totally  unable  to  do  himself,  and  yet  is  most 
anxious  to  have  the  credit  of.  The  position  which  Mr, 
Joyce  holds  is  a most  delicate  one,  one  which  he  fills  most 
delicately,  but  one  which  any  man  with  a less  acute  sense 
of  honour  and  right  might  use  to  his  own  advantage,  and 
to  bring  ridicule  on  his  employer.  Don’t  fancy  I’m  hard 
on  dear  old  West  in  saying  this ; if  he’s  your  husband  he’s 
my  brother,  and  you  can’t  be  more  jealous  of  his  name  than 
I am.  But  it’s  best  to  be  plain  spoken  about  the  matter 
now,  it  may  save  some  serious  difficulties  hereafter.  And 
how  do  you  treat  this  gentleman  ? Until  I spoke  to  you 
some  months  since  you  ignored  his  presence ; although  he 
was  domesticated  in  your  house  you  scarcely  knew  his 
personal  appearance.  Since  then  you  bow,  and  give  him 
an  occasional  word,  but  you’re  not  half  so  polite  to  him  as 
you  are  to  the  quadrille-bandsman  when  he  is  in  much 
request,  or  to  the  Bond  Street  librarian  when  stalls  for 
some  particular  performance  are  scarce.  I am  different  ; 
I am  sick  to  death  of  ‘ us  1 and  our  ‘ set,’  and  our  insipid 
fade  ways,  and  our  frightful  conventionality  and  awful 
dulness  ! Our  men  are  even  more  odious  than  our  women, 
and  that’s  saying  a good  deal ; their  conversation  varies 
between  insolence  and  inanity,  and  as  they  dare  not  talk 
the  first  to  me,  they’re  compelled  to  fall  back  on  the  second. 
When  I meet  this  gentleman,  I find  him  perfectly  well- 


DURING  THE  INTERVAL. 


217 


bred,  perfectly  at  his  ease,  with  a modest  assurance  which 
is  totally  different  from  the  billiard-table  swagger  of  the 
men  of  the  day ; perfectly  respectful,  full  of  talk  on 
interesting  topics,  never  for  an  instant  pressing  himself 
unduly  forward,  or  forgetting  that  he  is  what  he  is — 
a gentleman  ! I find  a charm  in  his  society;  I acknowledge 
it ; I have  never  sought  to  disguise  it.  The  fact  that  he 
saved  my  life  at  the  hazard  of  his  own  does  not  tend 
to  depreciate  him  in  my  eyes.  And  then,  because  I like 
him  and  have  the  honesty  to  say  so,  I am  bid  to  ‘ think 
of  ’ my  relations,  and  ‘ have  regard  for  decency  ! ’ A little 
too  much,  upon  my  word ! ” 

People  used  to  admire  Lady  Caroline’s  flashing  eyes, 
but  her  sister-in-law  had  never  seen  them  flash  so  bril- 
liantly before,  nor  had  her  voice,  even  when  singing  its 
best,  ever  rung  so  keenly  clear.  For  once  in  her  life, 
Lady  Hetherington  was  completely  put  down  and  ex- 
tinguished ; she  muttered  something  about  “ not  having, 
meant  anything,”  as  she  made  her  way  to  the  door,  and 
immediately  afterwards  she  disappeared. 

“ That  woman  is  quite  too  rude  ! ” said  Lady  Caroline 
to  herself,  ringing  the  bell  as  soon  as  the  door  closed 
behind  her  sister-in-law.  “ If  she  thinks  to  try  her 
tempers  on  me,  she  will  find  herself  horribly  mistaken. 
One  sufferer  is  quite  enough  in  a family,  and  poor  West 
must  have  the  entire  monopoly  of  my  lady’s  airs  ! — Now, 
Phillips,  please  to  go  on  brushing  my  hair  ! ” 

Meantime,  the  cause  of  all  this  commotion  and  out- 
break between  these  two  ladies,  Walter  Joyce,  utterly 
unconscious  of  the  excitement  he  was  creating,  was  pur- 
suing the  even  tenor  of  his  way  as  calmly  as  the  novel 
circumstances  of  his  position  would  admit.  Of  course, 
with  the  chance  of  an  entire  change  in  his  life  hanging 
over  him — a change  involving  marriage,  residence  in 
a foreign  country,  and  an  occupation  which  was  almost 
entirely  strange  to  him — it  was  not  possible  for  him  to 
apply  his  mind  unreservedly  to  the  work  before  him. 
Marian’s  face  would  keep  floating  before  him  instead  of  the 


218 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


lovely  countenance  of  Eleanor  de  Saekville,  erst  maid  of 
honour  to  Queen  Elizabeth,  who  had  this  in  common  with 
Marmion’s  friend,  Lady  Heron,  that  fame  “whispered 
light  tales  ” of  her.  Instead  of  Westhope,  as  it  was  in  the 
old  days,  with  its  fosse,  drawbridge,  portcullis,  ramparts, 
and  all  the  medisevalisms  which  it  is  in  duty  bound 
to  have,  Walter’s  fancy  was  endeavouring  to  realise  to 
itself  the  modern  city  of  Berlin,  on  the  river  Spree,  while 
his  brain  was  busied  in  conjecturing  the  nature  of  his 
forthcoming  duties,  and  in  wondering  whether  he  pos- 
sessed the  requisite  ability  for  executing  them.  Yes  ! he 
could  get  through  them,  and  not  merely  that,  but  do  them 
well,  do  anything  well  with  Marian  by  his  side.  Bright- 
ened in  every  possible  way  b}^  the  prospect  before  him,  better 
even  in  health  and  certainly  in  spirits,  he  looked  back  with 
wonder  on  his  past  few  months’  career ; he  could  not  under- 
stand how  he  had  been  so  calm,  so  unexpectant,  so  un- 
impassioned. He  could  not  understand  how  the  only  real 
hopes  and  fears  of  his  life,  those  with  which  Marian  was 
connected,  had  fallen  into  a kind  of  quiescent  state,  which 
he  had  borne  with  and  accepted.  He  could  not  under- 
stand that  now,  when  the  hopes  had  been  aroused  and  sent 
springing  within  him,  and  the  fears  had  been  banished,  at 
least  for  a while.  For  a while  ? — for  ever ! The  mere 
existence  of  any  fear  was  an  injustice  to  Marian.  She  had 
been  true  and  steadfast,  and  good  and  loving.  She  had 
proved  it  nobly  enough.  The  one  weakness  which  formed 
part  of  her  character,  an  inability  to  contend  with 
poverty — a venial  failing  enough,  Walter  Joyce  thought, 
especially  in  a girl  who  must  have  known,  more  particu- 
larly in  one  notable  instance,  the  sad  results  of  the  want 
of  means — would  never  now  be  tried.  There  would  be  no 
need  for  her  to  struggle,  no  necessity  for  pinching  and 
screwing.  Accustomed  since  his  childhood  to  live  on  the 
poorest  pittance,  J oyce  looked  at  the  salary  now  offered  to 
him  as  real  wealth,  position-giving,  and  commanding  all 
comforts,  if  not  luxuries.  The  thought  of  this,  and  the 
knowledge  that  she  would  be  able  to  take  her  mother  with 


DURING  THE  INTERVAL. 


219 


her  to  share  her  new  home,  would  give  Marian  the  greatest 
pleasure.  He  pictured  her  in  that  new  home,  bright, 
sunny,  and  cheerful ; the  look  of  care  and  anxiety,  the  two 
deep  brow-lines  which  her  face  had  worn  during  the  last 
year  of  their  residence  at  Helmingham  quite  obliterated  ; 
the  old,  cheerful,  ringing  tone  restored  to  her  voice,  and 
the  earnest,  steadfast,  loving  gaze  in  her  quiet  eyes ; and 
the  thought  almost  unmanned  him.  He  pulled  out  his 
watch-chain,  took  from  it  the  locket  containing  Marian’s 
portrait  (but  a very  poor  specimen  of  photography,  taken 
by  an  “ arteeste  ” who  had  visited  Helmingham  in  a green 
van  on  wheels,  and  who  both  orally  and  in  his  printed 
bills  laid  immense  stress  on  the  fact  that  not  merely  the 
portrait,  but  a frame  and  hook  to  hang  it  up  by,  were  in 
certain  cases  “ given  in  ”),  and  kissed  it  tenderly.  “ In  a 
very  little  time  now,  my  darling ! ” he  murmured — “ in 
a very  little  time  we  shall  be  happy.” 

Pondering  on  his  coming  meeting  with  Marian  actively 
suggested  the  thought  of  the  severance  of  existing  ties,  and 
the  parting  with  the  people  with  whom  he  was  then  domes- 
ticated. He  had  been  very  happy,  he  thought,  all  things 
considered.  He  was  in  a bright  pleasant  mood,  and  thus 
indisposed  to  think  harshly  of  anything,  even  of  Lady 
Hetherington’s  occasional  fits  of  temper  or  insolence. 
Certainly  Lady  Hetherington  had  always  treated  him  with 
perfect  courtesy,  and  since  the  great  day  of  the  ice-acci- 
dent had  evinced  towards  him  a marked  partiality.  As 
for  Lady  Caroline — he  did  not  know  why  his  cheek  should 
flush  as  he  thought  of  her,  he  felt  it  flush,  but  he  did  not 
know  why — as  for  Lady  Caroline,  she  had  been  a true 
friend ; nothing  could  exceed  the  kindness  which  she  had 
shown  him  from  the  day  of  his  arrival  among  the  family, 
and  he  should  always  think  of  her  with  interest  and  regard. 
It  was  clearly  his  duty  to  tell  Lord  Hetherington  of  tho 
offer  he  had  received,  and  of  the  chance  of  his  leaving  his 
secretaryship.  Or,  as  Lord  Hetherington  was  scarcely  a 
man  of  business,  and  as  Lady  Hetherington  cared  but  little 
about  such  matters,  and  might  not  be  pleased  at  having 


220 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


them  thrust  under  her  notice,  it  would  be  better  to  mention 
it  to  Lady  Caroline.  She  would  be  most  interested,  and, 
he  thought,  with  the  flush  again  rising  in  his  face,  most 
annoyed  at  the  news ; though  he  felt  sure  that  it  was 
plainly  a rise  in  life  for  him,  and  his  proper  course  to 
pursue,  and  would  eventually  give  her  pleasure.  He 
would  not  wait  for  the  receipt  of  Marian’s  reply — there  was 
no  need  for  that,  his  bounding  heart  told  him — but  he  would 
take  the  first  opportunity  that  offered  of  telling  Lady  Caro- 
line how  matters  stood,  and  asking  her  advice  as  to  how 
he  should  mention  the  fact  to  her  brother.  That  oppor- 
tunity came  speedily.  As  J oyce  was  sitting  in  the  library, 
his  desk  an  island  in  a sea  of  deeds  and  papers  and  pedi- 
grees, memorials  of  bygone  Wests,  his  pen  idly  resting  in 
his  hand,  his  eyes  looking  steadfastly  at  nothing,  and  his 
brains  busy  with  the  future,  the  door  opened,  and  Lady 
Caroline  entered.  Joyce  looked  up,  and  for  the  third  time 
within  an  hour  the  flush  mounted  to  his  face. 

“ I’m  very  sorry  to  disturb  you,  Mr.  Joyce,”  said  her 
ladyship,  “ but  I have  two  or  three  notes  for  to-night’s 
post,  and  the  house  is  so  upset  with  this  coming  departure 
for  London,  that  there’s  not  a quiet  place  where  one  can 
write  a line  but  here.  I’ll  sit  down  at  West’s  writing- 
table  and  be  as  mute  as  a mouse.” 

44  There’s  no  occasion  for  silence,  Lady  Caroline,” 
replied  Joyce.  “ I am  not  specially  busy  just  now,  and 
indeed  I was  going  to  ask  the  favour  of  a little  conversa- 
tion with  you.” 

4 4 Conversation  with  me  ? ” And  Lady  Caroline’s  voice, 
unconsciously  perhaps,  became  a little  harder,  her  manner 
a little  less  familiar  as  she  spoke. 

44  With  you,  if  you  please.  I have  some  news  to  tell, 
and  some  advice  to  ask.” 

44  I’m  sure  I shall  be  delighted  to  hear  the  first  and  to 
give  the  second — that  is,  if  advice  from  me  would  be  of 
any  use  to  you,  which  I very  much  doubt.”  Neither  voice 
nor  manner  were  in  the  least  relaxed,  and  Lady  Caroline’s 
face  was  very  pale,  and  rather  hard  and  stern.  44  How- 


DURING  THE  INTERVAL. 


221 


ever,”  she  added,  after  a moment’s  pause,  finding  he  did 
not  speak,  and  in  a different  tone,  “ under  present  circum- 
stances I ought  to  feel  very  little  compunction  in  disturb- 
ing you,  for  you  go  to  town  on  Wednesday,  and  you  know 
you  prophesied  for  yourself  the  strictest  seclusion  when  once 
you  arrived  at  Hetherington  House.” 

“ That  is  the  very  matter  on  which  1 wanted  to  speak 
to  you,  Lady  Caroline  ! ” 

“Indeed!”  said  Lady  Caroline,  with  a rather  disap- 
pointed air. 

“I  don’t  suppose  that  I shall  ever  set  foot  inside 
Hetherington  House.” 

“ Why,  you  don’t  mean  to  say  you  have  gone  back  to 
that  originally  preposterous  notion  of  remaining  here  after 
we  have  all  gone  ? Do  you  remember  the  man  who  was 
going  to  play  Othello  and  blacked  himself  all  over,  Mr. 
Joyce  ? There  is  such  a thing  as  overdoing  one’s  devo- 
tion to  one’s  duty;  or  rather,  what  one  imagines  one’s 
duty.” 

“No,  I certainly  do  not  intend  to  remain  at  West- 
hope.” 

“You  are  pleased  to  speak  in  enigmas  to-day,  Mr. 
Joyce,  and  as  I am  horridly  stupid  at  such  things,  and 
never  guessed  one  of  them  in  my  life,  I must  be  content  to 
wait  until  you  are  further  pleased  to  explain.”  There  was 
an  impertinence  about  her  ladyship  sometimes  in  look  and 
tone  which  became  her  immensely,  and  was  extraordinarily 
provoking. 

“Seriously,  then,  Lady  Caroline,  I am  thinking  of 
leaving  my  present  occupation ” 

“Of  leaving  us — I mean  Lord  Hetherington?”  inter- 
rupted Lady  Caroline. 

“ Yes.  Not  that  I am  not,  as  I ought  to  be,  thoroughly 
grateful  to  his  lordship  and  to  everybody  of  his  family  for 
their  kindness  and  consideration  to  me,  but  the  fact  is  that 
I have  received  an  offer  of  employment  which,  perhaps, 
will  suit  me  better,  and ” 

“You  would  be  very  foolish  not  to  avail  yourself  of  it, 


222 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


then,  Mr.  Joyce,”  again  interrupted  Lady  Caroline,  the 
chilling  tone  coming  bach  to  her  voice  and  the  stern  look 
to  her  face. 

“Will  you  kindly  hear  me  out?”  said  Joyce.  “I 
am  not  exaggerating  when  I say  that  I am  so  grateful  for 
all  the  kindness  which  I have  received  in  this  house,  that 
nothing  would  tempt  me  to  leave  it  that  did  not  give  me 
the  chance  of  being  enabled  to  gratify  the  one  wish  of  my 
life.  The  offer  which  has  been  made  to  me  will,  I think, 
do  this.  You  have  been  good  enough,  Lady  Caroline,  to 
admit  me  to  sufficient  intimacy  to  talk  of  my  private  affairs, 
and  when  I mention  the  one  wish  of  my  life,  you  will 
know  that  I mean  my  marriage  with  Miss  Ashurst.” 

“ Certainly,”  said  Lady  Caroline,  full  of  attention ; 
“ and  the  proposition  which  is  under  your  consideration — - 
or,  rather,  which  I suppose  you  have  accepted — will  enable 
you  to  carry  out  this  plan  ? ” 

“ It  will.  There  shall  be  no  disguise  with  you.  I am 
offered  the  post  of  Berlin  correspondent  to  a London  news- 
paper. The  salary  would  not  be  considered  large  by  you, 
or  any  one  of  your — you  know  what  I mean,”  he  said, 
in  answer  to  an  impatient  movement  of  her  head.  a But 
it  is  sufficient  to  enable  me  to  offer  Marian  the  comforts 
which  she  ought  to  have,  and  to  receive  her  mother  to  live 
with  us.” 

“ That  will  be  very  nice — very  nice  indeed,”  said  Lady 
Caroline  reflectively.  “ I’m  sure  I congratulate  you  very 
heartily,  Mr.  Joyce — very  heartily.  I think  you  said, 
when  that  man — what’s  his  name  ? — Lord  Hetherington’s 
agent — said  something  about  a boy  whom  you  knew  being 
killed — I think  you  said  you  had  not  heard  from  Miss 
Ashurst  for  some  time.” 

“ Yes  ; I did  say  so.” 

“ Have  you  heard  since  ? ” 

“ No,  I have  not.  But  I can  perfectly  understand  her 
silence,  and  you  would  if  you  knew  her.  Marian  is  one  of 
those  persons  who,  on  occasions  like  this — of  illness  and 
death,  I mean — are  the  mainstay  of  the  place  wherever 


DURING  THE  INTERVAL. 


223 


they  may  happen  to  be,  and  have  to  take  the  whole  burden 
of  management  on  to  their  own  shoulders.” 

44  Of  course — certainly — no  doubt,”  said  Lady  Caro- 
line. 44  And  she  has  not  written  since  the  boy’s  death  ? ” 

“ No,  not  since.” 

44  It  must  have  been  a sad  blow  for  the  old  father  to 
bear.  I don’t  know  why  I call  him  old,  though.  What 
age  is  he  ? ” 

“ Mr.  Creswell?  About  fifty-five,  I should  think.” 

44  Ah,  poor  man  ! poor  man  ! ” said  Lady  Caroline,  with 
much  greater  expression  of  pity  for  Mr.  Creswell  than 
when  she  first  heard  of  Tom’s  death.  “ You  have  vmtten 
to  Miss  Ashurst,  informing  her  of  this  proposition,  you  say, 
Mr.  J oyce  ? ” 

44  Yes,  I wrote  directly  the  offer  assumed  a tangible 
form.” 

44  And  as  yet  you  have  not  had  her  reply  ? ” 

44  No ; there  has  not  been  time.  I only  wrote  yester- 
day ; she  will  not  get  the  letter  until  to-morrow.” 

“ True,  a two  days’  post  from  here  to — where  she  is 
staying.  Then  you  will  look  for  her  answer  on  Wednes- 
day. Are  you  entirely  depending  on  Miss  Ashurst’s 
reply  ? ” 

44 1 scarcely  understand  you,  Lady  Caroline.” 

44  I mean,  you  are  waiting  until  you  hear  from  Miss 
Ashurst  before  you  send  your  acceptance  of  this  offer? 
Exactly  so ! But— suppose  Miss  Ashurst  thought  it  un- 
advi  sable  for  her  to  leave  this  place  where  she  is  staying 
just  now ” 

“ That  is  an  impossible  supposition.” 

“Well,  then,  put  it  that  her  mother’s  health — which 
you  told  me  was  ailing — was  such  as  to  prevent  her  from 
undertaking  so  long  and  serious  a journey,  and  that  she 

thought  it  her  duty  to  remain  by  her  mother ” 

44  4 Forsaking  all  other,  and  cleaving  only  unto  him,’  ” 
quoted  Joyce  with  gravity. 

44  Yes,  yes,  my  dear  Mr.  Joyce,  very  proper;  but  not 
the  way  of  the  world  nowadays ; besides,  I’m  sure  you 


224 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


would  not  be  selfish  enough  to  have  the  old  lady  left 
behind  amongst  strangers.  However,  grant  it  hypotheti- 
cally— would  you  still  take  up  this  appointment  ? ” 

“ I cannot  possibly  say,”  replied  Joyce,  after  a mo- 
ment’s pause.  “ The  idea  is  quite  new  to  me.  I have 
never  given  it  consideration.” 

“ I think  I should,  under  any  circumstances,  if  I were 
you,”  said  Lady  Caroline  earnestly,  and  looking  hard  at 
him.  “ You  have  talent,  energy,  and  patience,  the  three 
great  requisites  for  success,  and  you  are,  or  I am  very 
much  mistaken,  intended  for  a life  of  action.  I do  not 
advise  you  to  continue  in  the  course  now  opening  to  you. 
Even  if  you  start  for  it,  it  should  be  made  but  a stepping- 
stone  to  a higher  and  a nobler  career.” 

“ And  that  is ” 

“ Politics ! Plunged  in  them  you  forget  all  smaller 
things,  forget  the  petty  disappointments  and  discourage- 
ments which  we  all  have  equally  to  contend  with,  what- 
ever may  be  our  lot  in  life,  and  wonder  that  such  trivial 
matters  ever  caused  you  annoyance ! Wedded  to  them, 
3Tou  want  no  other  tie ; ambition  takes  the  place  of  love, 
is  [a  thousand  times  more  absorbing,  and  in  most  cases 
offers  a far  more  satisfactory  reward.  You  seem  to  me 
eminently  suited  for  such  a career,  and  if  you  were  to 
take  my  advice,  you  will  seek  an  opportunity  for  em- 
bracing it.” 

“You  would  not  have  me  throw  away  the  substance 
for  the  shadow  ? You  forget  that  the  chance  of  my  life  is 
now  before  me  ! ” 

“ I am  by  no  means  so  certain  that  it  is  the  chance  of 
your  life,  Mr.  Joyce ! I am  by  no  means  certain  that  it  is 
for  the  best  that  this  offer  has  been  made  to  you,  or  that 
the  result  will  prove  as  you  imagine.  But  in  any  case 
you  should  think  seriously  of  entering  on  a political 
career.  Your  constant  cry  has  been  on  a matter  on  which 
we  have  always  quarrelled,  and  a reference  to  which  on 
your  part  very  nearly  sent  me  off  just  now — you  will  harp 
upon  the  difference  of  social  position.  Now,  distinction  in 


DURING  THE  INTERVAL. 


225 


politics  levels  all  ranks.  The  two  leaders  of  political 
parties  in  the  present  day,  who  really  have  pas  and  pre- 
cedence over  the  highest  in  the  land,  who  are  the  dis- 
pensers of  patronage,  and  the  cynosures  of  the  world,  are 
men  sprung  from  the  people.  There  is  no  height  to  which 
the  successful  politician  may  not  attain.” 

“Perhaps  not,”  said  Joyce.  “But  I confess  I am 
entirely  devoid  of  ambition  ! ” 

“ You  think  so  now,  but  you  will  think  differently 
some  day,  perhaps.  It  is  a wonderfully  useful  substitute.” 
“ Would  you  advise  me  to  speak  to  Lord  Hetherington 
about  my  intentions  ? ” 

“ I think  not  just  yet,  seeing  that  you  scarcely  know 
what  your  intentions  are.  I think  I would  wait  until 
after  Wednesday.  Good-bye,  Mr.  Joyce ; I have  gossiped 
away  all  my  spare  time,  and  my  letters  must  wait  till  to- 
morrow. You  will  not  fail  to  let  me  know  when  you 
receive  your  reply.  I shall  be  most  anxious  to  know.” 

“ This  country  beauty  is  playing  fast  and  loose  with 
him,”  said  Lady  Caroline  to  herself,  as  the  door  closed 
behind  her.  “ She  is  angling  for  a bigger  fish,  and  he  is 
so  innocent,  or  so  much  in  love — the  same  thing — as  not 
to  perceive  it.  Poor  fellow  ! it  will  be  an  awful  blow  for 
him,  but  it  will  come*  I feel  certain.” 


226 


WRECKED  IN  TORT. 


CHAPTER  XXL 

SUCCESS  ACHIEVED. 

The  step  which.  Mr.  Creswell  took  in  asking  Marian 
Ashurst  to  become  his  wife  was  not  taken  without  due 
care  and  consideration.  As,  during  a lifetime  which  had 
now  exceeded  half  a century,  he  had  been  accustomed  to 
ponder  over,  sift,  and  weigh  the  most  minor  details  of 
even  trivial  schemes  before  carrying  them  out,  it  was  not 
likely  that  he  would  give  less  attention  to  a plan,  on  the 
successful  or  unsuccessful  result  of  which  his  whole  hope 
of  future  earthly  happiness  or  misery  might  be  based. 
The  plan  presented  itself  to  him  squarely  and  from  a 
business-like  point  of  view,  like  all  other  plans  which  he 
entertained,  and  had  two  aspects— as  to  how  it  would 
affect  himself,  and  how  it  would  affect  others.  He  took 
it  under  the  first  aspect  and  thought  it  out  carefulty. 
His  was  a loving  nature,  always  desiring  something  to 
cherish  and  cling  to.  In  bygone  years  he  had  had  his 
wife,  whom  he  had  worshipped  with  all  the  warmth  of  his 
loving  nature.  She  had  been  the  sharer  of  his  struggles, 
but  it  had  not  been  permitted  to  her  to  take  part  in  his 
success ; doubtless  for  the  best — for  Mr.  Creswell,  like  all 
men  who  have  been  thoroughly  successful,  and  with  whom 
everything  has  gone  straight,  had  perfect  trust  and  re- 
liance on  the  dispensations  of  Providence — she  had  been 
removed  before  his  position  was  acquired.  But  she  had 
left  behind  her  a son  for  whom  that  position  was  destined, 
for  whom  his  father  slaved  for  years,  adding  to  his  wealth 
and  establishing  his  name,  all  the  while  hojfing  against 
hope  that  the  boy  might  one  day  learn  how  to  use  the 
former  and  how  to  maintain  the  latter.  As  the  lad  grew 
up,  and  year  by  year  showed  his  real  nature  more  and 
more,  so  the  hope  grew  fainter  and  fainter  in  the  father’s 
heart,  until  it  was  finally  extinguished  by  Tom’s  death. 


SUCCESS  ACHIEVED. 


227 


And  then  he  had  no  hope  left  in  the  world,  or  rather  he 
would  have  had  none  had  it  not  been  for  Marian.  It 
seemed  as  though  matters  had  been  providentially  ar- 
ranged, Mr.  Creswell  thought.  The  dependent  state  of 
Marian  and  her  mother,  his  power  of  assisting  them,  their 
being  domiciled  under  his  roof,  which  had  given  him  such 
opportunity  of  studying  Marian’s  character,  and  had  so 
entirely  reversed  his  original  opinion  of  her,  the  assistance 
and  support  she  had  afforded  him  during  that  sad  period 
of  poor  Tom’s  death, — all  seemed  predestined  and  pre- 
arranged. He  knew  her  now.  It  was  not  like  taking  a 
girl  with  whom  his  acquaintance  had  been  slight,  or  even 
one  whom  he  might  have  thought  he  knew  intimately, 
but  whom  he  had  only  seen  on  her  society-behaviour,  or 
in  such  guise  as  she  would  naturally  affect  before  any  one 
whom  she  knew  to  be  noticing  her  with  an  object.  He 
had  seen  Marian  Ashurst  under  all  circumstances,  and  in 
all  places.  Under  the  strongest  and  hardest  trials  he  had 
always  seen  her  come  out  brightest  and  best,  and  he  had 
had  full  opportunity  of  observing  the  sterling  worth  of 
her  character.  Was  the  end  of  all  his  life  of  toil  and 
strife  to  be  an  unloved  and  unloving  old  age  ? Was  the 
position  which  he  had  acquired  to  benefit  no  one  but 
himself,  and  to  die  out  with  him?  Was  the  wealth  which 
he  had  amassed  to  be  filtered  away  into  dirty  channels,  or 
left  for  the  benefit  of  charities  ? If  these  questions  were 
to  be  answered  in  the  negative,  where  could  he  find  such 
a helpmate  as  Marian,  where  could  he  dream  of  looking 
for  such  another?  His  conduct  could  scarcely  be  cha- 
racterised as  selfish,  he  thought,  if  after  the  life  of  work 
and  anxiety  which  he  had  passed,  he  tried  to  render  its 
latter  portion  peaceful  and  happy ; and  that,  he  felt,  was 
only  to  be  done  by  his  marriage  with  Marian. 

So  much  for  himself;  but  how  would  it  affect  others? 
Marian,  first  ? Mr.  Creswell  was  so  true  and  so  honour- 
able a man  that  even  in  a case  like  the  present,  where  the 
interest  of  his  future  was  at  stake,  he  would  not  have 
used  an  argument  in  the  firm  basis  of  which  he  did  not 


228 


WRECKED  IN  TORT. 


himself  believe.  In  pleading  his  cause  to  Marian,  he  had 
somewhat  enlarged  upon  the  responsibility  laid  on  her  in 
regard  to  her  mother — responsibility  which,  he  argued, 
would  be  considerably  lightened,  if  not  entirely  removed, 
by  her  acceptance  of  the  position  which  he  offered  her. 
He  believed  this  firmly,  setting  it  down  as  an  undoubted 
gain  to  Marian,  who  would  also  have  position,  wealth,  a 
home,  and  a protector.  What  on  the  other  side — wdiat,  as 
they  said  in  business,  per  contra — what  would  she  lose  ? 
He  hoped,  nothing.  To  many  girls,  to  most  girls,  a 
husband  old  enough  to  be  their  father  would  have  been  in 
the  highest  degree  objectionable ; but  Marian  was  so 
different  to  any  girls  he  had  ever  seen.  She  was  so  staid, 
so  decorous,  so  old-fashioned;  her  life  had  been  one  of 
such  quietude  and  earnestness ; she  had  always  been 
associated  with  people  so  much  older  than  herself.  And 
then  she  had  never  had  any  love-affair ! Mr.  Creswell 
thanked  Heaven  for  that.  He  could  not  fancy  anything 
worse  than  playing  the  part  of  Auld  Eobin  Gray  in  the 
ballad,  and  being  received  and  accepted  for  the  sake  of 
his  money,  and,  more  than  that,  causing  the  rejection  of 
a poorer  suitor.  That  would  be  too  dreadful!  No. 
Marian  had  not  been  thrown  in  the  way  of  that  kind  of 
thing;  her  father  had  neither  entertained  company  nor 
taken  her  into  society,  and  there  was  no  one  in  the  village, 
Mr.  Creswell  thought  with  a grave  smile,  who  would  have 
ventured  to  uplift  his  eyes  towards  her.  He  should  not 
expect  from  her  any  romantic  worship,  any  girlish  devo- 
tion, but,  at  all  events,  she  would  come  to  him  heart- 
whole,  without  any  remains  of  previous  attachments  or 
bygone  passions. 

Who  else  would  be  affected  by  this  marriage?  His 
nieces.  At  least,  so  the  world  would  think  and  say,  but 
he  should  take  care  that  the  world  was  wrong.  On  the 
contrary,  if  anybody  rather  benefited  by  the  step  he  was 
about  to  take,  it  should  be  those  girls  ; principally  because 
they  were  the  persons  who  would  be  selected  for  the 
world’s  pity,  and  also  because,  ho  could  not  tell  why,  he 


SUCCESS  ACHIEVED. 


229 


rather  disliked  them.  It  was  very  wrong,  he  knew,  and 
he  had  often  reasoned  with  himself,  and  struggled  hard 
against  it,  but  the  result  was  always  the  same.  They 
were  no  companions  for  him.  He  had  tried  very  hard  to 
make  himself  feel  interested  in  them,  but,  beyond  his 
natural  kinsman  interest  and  compassion  for  their  forlorn 
state  of  orphanage,  without  effect.  He  had  examined 
himself  as  to  the  cause  of  this  want  of  interest,  and  had 
explained  to  himself  that  they  were  “ frivolous ; ” by 
which  he  meant  that  they  had  no  notions  of  business,  of 
money,  of  responsibility,  of  the  various  items  which  make 
up  the  serious  side  of  life.  All  those  qualities  which 
made  up  the  charms  of  Marian  Ashurst  were  wanting  in 
these  girls.  In  reality  they  were  not  in  the  least  frivo- 
lous ; they  were  far  better  educated  and  informed  than 
most  young  ladies  of  their  class,  and  one  of  them,  Maude, 
had  superior  natural  gifts.  But  they  were  not  after  their 
uncle’s  bent,  and  he  could  not  make  them  so.  That, 
however,  was  the  exact  reason  why  a man  with  such  a 
keen  sense  of  honour  as  Mr.  Creswell  should  treat  them 
with  even  extra  consideration,  and  should  be  more  than 
ever  cautious  that  no  such  proceeding  sis  his  marriage 
should  injure  them  in  any  possible  way.  He  thought  it 
was  due  to  the  girls,  as  well  as  advisable  for  many 
reasons,  that  they  should  be  made  acquainted  with  the 
forthcoming  change  as  speedily  as  possible ; and  he  took 
an  opportunity  of  saying  so  to  Marian  on  the  Sunday 
evening.  Marian  quite  agreed  with  him.  She  had  never 
been  enthusiastic  on  the  subject  of  the  girls,  and  she  did 
not  pretend  to  be  now. 

“ It  would  only  be  right  that  they  should  know  it  at 
once,”  she  said.  “ I had  rather,  if  you  please,  that  you 
should  tell  them.  It  will  come  from  you  better  than  from 
me.  I suppose  I shall  get  on  very  well  with  them.” 

“ Get  on  very  well  with  them ! ” repeated  Mr.  Cres- 
well. “ With  the  girls  ? Why,  of  course  you  will, 
dearest.  What  reason  could  there  be  why  you  should  not 
get  on  with  them  ? ” 


230 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


“ Oh,  none  in  the  least — of  course  not ! It  was  a silly 
remark  of  mine.” 

Mr.  Creswell  knew  that  she  never  made  silly  remarks  ; 
one  of  his  avowed  boasts  about  her  was,  that  she  never 
spoke  without  thinking,  and  always  spoke  at  the  right 
time.  He  felt  a little  uncomfortable,  therefore,  and 
dropped  the  subject,  saying,  “ I will  tell  them,  then,  to- 
morrow morning.  Did  you  speak  to  Mrs.  Ashurst  ? ” 

“I  did!” 

“ And  she — — ? ” 

“ And  she  is  almost  as  happy  as  her  daughter  at  the 
thought ! Is  that  sufficient  ? ” 

“ God  bless  her ! ” said  Mr.  Creswell.  “ Her  comfort 
shall  be  our  first  care  ! Ah,  Marian,  you  are  an  angel ! ” 
And  Marian  thought  it  mattered  very  little  how  the  young 
ladies  might  receive  the  announcement  of  their  uncle’s 
intended  marriage,  so  long  as  their  uncle  held  that  last 
expressed  opinion. 

The  next  morning,  while  the  young  ladies  were  at 
their  music  practice,  they  received  a message  that  their 
uncle  wished  to  see  them.  It  was  not  meant  to  be  a 
formal  message,  but  it  certainly  smacked  somewhat  of 
formality.  Hitherto,  whenever  their  uncle  wanted  them, 
he  had  been  in  the  habit  of  either  coming  to  their  room,  or 
of  calling  them  to  him.  Maude  looked  astonished  at  the 
solemnity  of  the  phrase  “ wishes  to  see  you  ” as  the  servant 
delivered  it,  while  Gertrude  raised  her  eyebrows  at  her 
sister,  and  audibly  wondered  what  it  meant. 

They  found  their  uncle  seated  in  his  library,  the  desk 
before  him  as  usual  heaped  with  papers  and  accounts,  and 
plenty  of  Miss  Ashurst’s  handwriting,  so  horribly  neat 
and  so  painfully  legible,  as  Gertrude  described  it,  to  be 
seen  everywhere.  Mr.  Creswell  rose  as  they  entered,  and 
received  them  with  all  his  usual  kindness  ; Maude  thought 
his  manner  was  a little  flurried  and  his  face  a little  pale, 
but  she  could  not  gather  from  anything  she  saw  the  reason 
of  their  summons.  Gertrude  had  made  up  her  mind  that 
somebody,  she  did  not  know  who,  had  proposed  for  Maude ; 


SUCCESS  ACHIEVED.  231 

but  then  she  could  not  see  why  she  was  required  to  be 
present  at  the  announcement. 

There  was  rather  an  uncomfortable  hitch  in  the  pro- 
ceedings at  first,  Mr.  Ores  we]  1 obviously  finding  it  difficult 
to  touch  upon  the  topic  which  he  had  to  treat,  and  the 
girls  having  no  topic  to  touch  upon.  At  length,  Maude 
broke  the  silence  by  saying,  46  You  sent  for  us,  uncle. 
Y ou  wished  to  see  us.” 

44  Yes,  my  dears — yes,  girls,  I wanted  to  see  you,  and  I 
asked  the  servant  to  beg  you  to  step  here,  as  I had  some- 
thing special  that  I wanted  to  say  to  you,  for  you  know, 
my  dear  children,  that  since  you  came  to  live  with  me,  I 
have  always  treated  you  as  if  you  were  my  daughters— 
at  least,  I hope  I have ; it  has  been  my  wish  to  do  so.” 

44  You  always  have  done  so,  uncle ! ” said  Maude, 
decisively. 

44  Always,  uncle ! ” echoed  Gertrude,  who  was  best  as 
chorus. 

44  That’s  right,  my  dears.  I’m  glad  you’ve  found  it  so, 
as  I intended  it.  So  long  as  I live  you  will  find  that  you 
will  be  treated  in  the  same  way,  and  I have  made  such 
provision  for  you  in  my  will  as  I would  have  made  for  my 
own  daughters,  if  it  had  pleased  God  toi  give  me  any. 
Having  told  you  this,  it’s  right  that  I should  tell  you  of 
something  which  is  going  to  happen  in  this  house,  though 
it  won’t  make  any  difference  in  your  position,  nor  any 
difference  to  you  at  all  that  I know  of,  but  yet  it’s  right 
you  should  be  made  acquainted  with  it.  I’m — I’m  going 
to  be  married  ! ” 

There  was  a pause  for  an  instant,  and  then  it  was 
Gertrude  spoke. 

44  To  be  married!”  she  said.  44  You  going  to  bo 
married ! — Oh,  uncle,  I know  to  whom  ! I’m  sure  I can 
guess ! ” 

44  Guess,  then,  my  dear,”  said  Mr.  Crcswell. 

44To  dear  old  Mrs.  Ashurst,  isn’t  it?”  cried  Gertrude. 
“I’m  sure  it  is!  She  is  the  very  kindest,  sweetest  old 

thing  ! and  if  she  only  had  better  health I’m  right, 

uncle,  am  I not  ? — it  is  Mrs.  Ashurst  ? ” 


232 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


“No,  ray  dear,”  said  Mr.  Creswell,  with  hesitating 
voice  and  glowing  cheeks — “no,  my  dear,  it’s  not  Mrs. 
Ashurst ! 35 

“Ah,  then,  it’s  some  one  you  have  met  away  from 
Woolgreaves,  away  from  the  neighbourhood,  some  one  we 
don’t  know ! 33 

“ No,  indeed  ! 33  said  Mr.  Creswell,  “ it  is  some  one  you 
know  very  well,  and  I hope  love  very  much.  It  is  Marian 
- — Miss  Ashurst.33 

“ Oh,  my  ! 33  exclaimed  Gertrude. 

“ I wish  you  all  happiness,  dear  uncle,33  said  Maude, 
rising  from  her  seat,  crossing  to  her  uncle,  and  bending 
down  to  kiss  him  as  he  sat. 

“ So  do  I,  dear  uncle,33  said  Gertrude,  following  her 
sister. 

“ Thank  you,  my  dears,33  said  Mr.  Creswell ; “ thank 
you  very  much.  I said  before  that  nothing  should  make 
any  difference  in  your  position  here,  nor  in  my  intentions 
for  the  future — nor  will  it.  Besides,  it  isn’t  as  if  it  were 
a stranger — you’ve  known  Marian  so  long 33 

“ Oh  yes,  we’ve  known  Miss  Ashurst  for  some  time  ! 33 
said  Maude,  with  emphasis. 

“ Exactly  ! 33  said  Mr.  Creswell.  “ As  I say,  it  isn’t  as 
if  it  were  a stranger.  Marian  has  been  domiciled  with  us 
now  for  some  time,  and  there  is  no  reason  why,  so  far  as 
you  and  she  are  concerned,  things  should  not  go  on  exactly 
as  they  have  done ! At  least,  I know  this  to  be  her  wish 
and  mine,”  he  added,  after  a short  pause. 

“ Whatever  is  your  wish,  uncle,  I’m  sure  Gertrude  and 
I will  be  delighted  to  fulfil ” 

“ Delighted  ! 33  interposed  Gertrude. 

“ And  I don’t  think  Miss  Ashurst  will  find  us  give  her 
any  trouble.” 

“ Miss  Ashurst ! Why  not  speak  of  her  as  Marian,  my 
dear?”  said  Mr.  Creswell. 

“ She  has  always  been  Miss  Ashurst  to  me  hitherto, 
and  you  know  I’m  not  going  to  marry  her,  uncle ! 33  said 
Maude,  almost  brusquely. 


SUCCESS  ACHIEVED. 


233 


“ What  do  you  think  of  Miss  A.  now  ? ” said  Gertrude, 
when  the  girls  were  back  in  their  room.  “ I used  to 
laugh  about  her  being  superior  ! But  she  has  shown  her- 
self superior  to  us  with  a vengeance  ! Fancy  having  her 
for  an  aunt,  and  having  to  ask  her  permission  to  do  this 
and  that,  and  go  here  and  there  ! Oh,  my ! Why  don’t 
you  speak,  Maude  ? why  don’t  you  say  something  about 
all  this?” 

44  Because  I can’t  trust  myself  to  speak,”  said  Maude 
hurriedly.  44  Because  I’m  afraid  of  blurting  out  some- 
thing that  were  better  left  unsaid.” 

440h,  then,  you’re  not  so  pleased  at  the  connection! 
I’m  sure  by  the  way  in  which  you  wished  your  uncle 
happiness,  one  would  have  thought  that  the  dearest  wish 
of  your  heart  had  been  realised.  What  do  you  think  of 
Miss  A.’s  conduct,  I mean  as  regards  this  matter  ? ” 

44  Just  what  I think  of  it,  and  have  always  thought  of 
it  as  regards  every  other  matter,  that  it  is  selfish,  base,  and 
deceitful.  That  woman  came  here  with  a predetermined 
plan  of  marrying  uncle,  and  chance  has  helped  her  to  carry 
it  into  effect  even  more  quickly  than  she  anticipated.  Tom 
saw  that ; he  told  us  so,  if  you  recollect.  Poor  Tom  ! he 
was  a dull,  unpleasant  lad,  but  he  was  wonderfully  shrewd, 
and  he  saw  through  this  woman’s  tactics  in  a minute,  and 
determined  to  spoil  them.  He  would  have  done  so,  had  he 
lived,  and  now,  I’ve  no  doubt  that  the  very  fact  of  his  death 
has  been  the  means  of  hurrying  uncle  into  taking  this 
step ! ” 

44  Do  you  think  Miss  A.  cares  for  uncle,  Maude  ? ” 

44  Cares  for  him — what  do  you  mean  ? ” 

44  Well,  of  course,  I don’t  mean  to  be  awfully  fond,  and 
all  that  sort  of  thing,  like  lovers,  you  know,  and  all  that ! 
What  do  you  think  she — well,  she’s  fond  of  him? ” 

“Of  him  ? No  ! she’s  fond  of  his  name  and  his  position, 
his  money  and  his  influence  ! She’s  fond  of  Woolgreaves; 
she  has  become  accustomed  to  its  comforts,  and  she  does 
not  choose  to  give  them  up ! ” 

44 1 don’t  know  that  Miss  A.  is  to  be  particularly  pitched 


234 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


into  for  that,  Maude,”  said  Gertrude.  “ I think,  perhaps, 
we  ought  to  look  at  home  before  making  any  such  sug- 
gestions ! We  have  beoome  accustomed  to  the  comforts  of 
Woolgreaves,  and  we — at  least  I — should  be  uncommonly 
sorry  to  give  them  up ! ” 

“ Well,  but  we  have  some  claim  to  them ; at  all  events, 
we  are  of  uncle’s  blood,  and  did  not  come  here  designedly, 
with  a view  to  establish  ourselves  here,  as  I’m  certain  this 
woman  did  ! And  when  you  talk  of  our  not  giving  up  our 
present  life — look  to  it ! ” 

“ Look,  Maude  ! what  do  you  mean  ? ” 

“ What  do  I mean  ! That  we  shall  have  to  change  our 
lives  very  quickly  ! You  don’t  suppose  Marian  Ashurst  is 
going  to  live  her  life  with  us  as  constant  reminders  to  her 
of  what  was  ? You  don’t  suppose  that  we— that  I,  at  least, 
am  going  to  waste  my  life  with  her  as  my  rock  ahead — not 
I,  indeed  ! ” 

“ Well,  Maude,”  said  Gertrude  quietly,  “I  don’t  suppose 
anything  about  anything  ! I never  do.  What  you  propose 
I shall  agree  to,  and  that’s  all  I know,  or  all  I care  for ! ” 

It  was  Marian’s  wish  that  the  marriage  should  be  delayed 
for  some  little  time,  but  Mr.  Creswell  was  of  the  opposite 
advice,  and  thought  it  would  be  better  to  have  the  ceremony 
as  soon  as  possible.  “ Life  is  very  short,  Marian,”  he  said, 
“ and  I am  too  old  to  think  of  deferring  my  happiness,  j 
am  looking  to  you  as  my  wife  to  brighten  and  soothe  the 
rest  of  my  days,  and  I am  selfish  enough  to  grudge  every 
one  of  them  until  you  are  in  that  position ! It  is  all  very 
well  for  young  people  to  have  their  term  of  courtship  and 
engagement,  and  all  the  rest  of  it,  but  you  are  going  to 
throw  yourself  away  on  an  old  man,  dear  one  ” — and  ho 
smiled  fondly  and  patted  her  cheek,  “ and  you  must  be 
content  to  dispense  with  that,  and  come  to  him  at  once  ! ” 
“ Content  is  not  the  word  to  express  my  feelings  and 
wishes  in  the  matter,”  said  Marian ; “ only  I thought  that 
— after  Tom’s  death,  so  soon,  I mean — people  might  say 
that  it  would  have  been  better  to  have  waited  till- — 


SUCCESS  ACHIEVED. 


235 


“ My  dearest  child,  no  waiting  would  restore  my  poor 
boy  to  me ; and  I look  to  you  to  fill  the  void  in  my  heart 
which  his  loss  has  made.  As  for  people  talking,  I have 
lived  too  long,  child,  to  pay  the  slightest  heed  to  what 
they  say.  If  such  gossip  moved  me  one  jot,  it  would  rather 
strengthen  my  wish  to  hasten  our  marriage,  as  it  supplies 
me  with  an  argument  which  you  evidently  have  not  per- 
ceived  ” 

“ And  that  is ” 

“ And  that  is,  that  you  may  depend  upon  it  these 
sticklers  for  the  proprieties  and  conventionalities,  these 
worshippers  of  Mrs.  Grundy,  will  be  very  much  interested 
in  our  movements,  and  highly  scandalised  if,  under  these 
fresh  circumstances  which  they  have  just  learned,  you 
remain  an  inmate  of  my  house.  What  has  been  perfectly 
right  and  decorous  for  the  last  few  months  would  be  highly 
improper  for  the  next  few  weeks,  according  to  their  miser- 
able doctrine.  I should  not  have  named  this  to  you, 
Marian,  had  not  the  conversation  taken  this  turn;  nor 
even  then,  had  you  been  a silly  girl  and  likely  to  be 
influenced  by  such  nonsense.  However  much  you  might 
wish  to  go  away  and  live  elsewhere  until  our  marriage, 
you  cannot.  Your  mother’s  state  of  health,  precludes  any 
possibility  of  her  removal,  and  therefore  the  only  thing  for 
us  to  do  is  to  get  the  marriage  over  as  quickly  as  possible, 
and  thus  effectually  silence  Mrs.  Grundy’s  disciples.” 

“ Very  well,”  said  Marian.  “ I suppose  for  the  same 
reason  it  will  be  better  that  the  wedding  should  be 
here?” 

“ Here  ? Why,  my  dearest  Marian,  where  would  you 
wish  it  to  be  ? ” 

“ Oh,  I should  like  us  to  go  away  to  some  quiet  little 
place  where  we  were  neither  of  us  known,  and  just  walk 
into  the  church ” 

“ And  just  smuggle  through  the  ceremony  and  slip 
away,  so  that  no  one  should  see  you  were  marrying  a man 
old  enough  to  be  your  father  ! Is  that  it,  pet?  I ought 
to  feel  highly  complimented,  and ” 


236 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


44  Please,  not  even  in  joke  ! No,  no ; yon  know  what  I 
mean.  I cannot  explain  it,  but ” 

“ I know  exactly,  darling,  but  we  can’t  help  it.  If  you 
wish  it,  the  wedding  shall  be  perfectly  quiet,  only  just 
ourselves;  but  it  must  take  place  here,  and  I don’t  suppose 
our  good  neighbours  would  let  it  pass  off  without  some 
demonstration  of  their  regard,  whatever  we  might  say 
to  them.  By  the  way,  I mentioned  it  to  the  girls  this 
morning.” 

“ And  what  did  they  say  ?”  Marian  asked  with,  for  her, 
rather  unusual  eagerness.  44  Or,  rather,  what  did  Maude 
say ; for  Gertrude,  of  course,  merely  echoed  her  sister  ? ” 

“ Poor  Gerty ! ” said  Mr.  Creswell,  smiling  ; “ hitherto 
she  has  not  displayed  much  originality.  Oh,  Maude  was 
very  affectionate  indeed ; came  over  and  kissed  me,  and 
wished  me  all  happiness.  And,  as  you  say,  of  course 
Gertrude  did  and  said  ditto.  Have  they — have  they  said 
anything  to  you?” 

“ Not  a word.  I have  scarcely  seen  them  since  yester- 
day.” 

44  Ah  ! They’ll  take  an  opportunity  of  coming  to  you. 
I know  they  are  delighted  at  anything  which  they  think 
will  conduce  to  my  happiness.” 

44  Perhaps  they  don’t  think  that  your  marrying  me  will 
have  that  effect,”  said  Marian  with  a half  smile. 

4 4 4 Please,  not  even  in  joke  ’ — it  is  my  turn  to  say  that 
now,”  said  Mr.  Creswell. 

It  was  a perfect  godsend  to  the  people  of  Helmingham, 
this  news  ; and  coming  so  soon,  too — a few  months’ 
interval  was  comparatively  nothing  in  the  village — after 
the  excitement  caused  by  young  Tom’s  death.  They  had 
never  had  the  remotest  idea  that  Mr.  Creswell  would  ever 
take  to  himself  a second  wife ; they  had  long  since  given 
up  the  idea  of  speculating  upon  Marian  Ashurst’s  marriage 
prospects ; and  the  announcement  was  almost  too  much  for 
them  to  comprehend.  Generally,  the  feeling  was  one  of 
satisfaction,  for  the  old  schoolmaster  and  Mrs.  Ashurst  had 


SUCCESS  ACHIEVED. 


237 


both  been  popular  in  the  village,  and  there  had  been  much 
commiseration,  expressed  with  more  warmth  and  honesty 
than  good  taste,  when  it  was  murmured  that  the  widow 
and  Marian  would  have  to  give  up  housekeeping — an 
overwhelming  degradation  in  the  Helmingham  mind — 
and  go  into  lodgings.  A little  alloy  might  have  existed 
in  the  fact  that  no  new  element  would  be  brought  into 
their  society,  no  stranger  making  her  first  appearance  as 
the  “ squire’s  lady,”  to  be  stared  at  on  her  first  Sunday  in 
church,  and  discussed  and  talked  over  after  her  first  round 
of  visits.  But  this  disappointment  was  made  up  to  Mrs. 
Croke  and  Mrs.  Whicher,  and  others  of  their  set,  by  the 
triumph  and  vindication  of  their  own  perspicuity  and 
appreciation  of  character.  They  appealed  to  each  other, 
and  to  a sympathising  audience  round  a tea-table  specially 
spread,  directly  authentic  confirmation  of  the  news  of  the 
intended  marriage  was  received,  whether  they  had  not 
always  said  that,  “ That  girl’s  heart  was  set  on  money  ! ” 
That  it  would  take  some  one  “ wi’  pounds  an’  pounds  ” to 
win  her,  and  they  had  proved  right,  and  she  were  now 
going  to  be  made  mistress  of  Woolgreaves,  eh?  Money 
enough  there,  as  Mrs.  Whicher  told  Mrs.  M‘Shaw,  to 
satisfy  even  her  longing  for  riches.  “ But  it’s  not  all 
goold  that  glitters,”  said  the  thrifty  housewife ; “ and  it’s 
not  all  sunshine  even  then.  There’s  givin’  up  liberty,  and 
suchlike,  to  who  ? It  ’minds  me  of  the  story  of  a man  as 
cam’  to  market  wi’  a cart-load  o’  cheeses  and  grindstones. 
The  cheeses  was  that  beautiful  that  every  one  wanted 
they,  but  no  one  bought  the  grindstones ; so  seein’  this, 
the  man,  who  were  from  where  your  husband  comes  from, 
Mrs.  M‘Shaw,  the  north,  he  said  he  wouldn’t  sell  ere  a 
cheese  unless  they  bought  a grindstone  at  the  same  time ; 
and  so  he  cleared  off  the  lot.  I’m  thinkin’  that  wi’  Marian 
Ashurst  the  money’s  the  cheese,  but  she  can’t  take  that 
wi’out  the  old  man,  the  grindstone.”  Scarcely  anything 
was  said  about  the  singularity  of  the  circumstance  that  a 
pretty  girl  like  Marian  had  not  had  any  lovers.  Mrs. 
Croke  remarked  that  once  she  thought  there  would  be 


238 


WRECKED  IN  POET. 


“something  between”  Marian  and  “that  young  Joyce,” 
but  she  was  promptly  put  down  ; Mrs.  Whicher  observing 
scornfully  that  a girl  with  Marian’s  notions  of  money 
wasn’t  likely  to  have  “ taken  up  wi’  an  usher ; ” and  Mrs. 
Baker,  little  Sam’s  mother,  declaring  it  would  have  been 
an  awful  thing,  if  true,  as  she  was  given  to  understand 
that  young  Joyce  had  “ left  for  a soldier,”  and  the  last 
thing  heard  of  him  was  that  he  had  actually  ’listed. 

The  wedding-day  arrived,  to  Marian’s  intense  relief. 
She  had  been  haunted  by  an  odd  feeling  that  Walter  Joyce 
might  even  come  to  see  her,  or  at  all  events  might  write 
to  her,  either  to  induce  her  to  change  her  resolution  or  to 
upbraid  her  with  her  perfidy.  But  he  had  made  no  sign, 
and  there  was  no  chance  of  his  doing  so  now.  She  was 
perfectly  calm  and  composed,  and  steadily  contemplated 
her  future,  and  had  made  up  her  mind  as  to  her  intended 
disposal  of  various  persons  so  soon  as  she  commenced  her 
new  path  in  life.  That  would  not  be  just  yet ; they  were 
going  away  for  a fortnight  to  the  seaside,  Mrs.  Ashurst 
being  left  to  the  care  of  the  girls,  who  were  delighted  at 
the  charge.  Maude  and  Gertrude  were  to  be  bridesmaids, 
and  no  one  else  was  to  be  officially  present  at  the  ceremony 
save  Dr.  Osborne,  who,  as  Marian’s  oldest  friend,  was  to 
give  her  away.  The  little  doctor  was  in  the  greatest 
delight  at  the  match,  which  he  looked  upon  as  being 
somewhat  of  his  own  making,  though  he  thought  it  the 
best  joke  in  the  world  to  rally  Marian  by  telling  her  that 
“her  housekeeper  project  was  a much  better  one  than  his. 
He  had  only  thought  Mrs.  Ashurst  might  succeed  Mrs. 
Caddy  for  a little  time ; but,  by  George,  little  Marian  all 
the  time  intended  to  make  herself  head  of  the  house  for 
life ! ” The  villagers,  however,  were  not  to  be  balked  of 
their  ceremonial;  The  bells  were  rung,  general  holiday 
was  made,  and  Marian  Ores  well,  leaning  on  her  husband’s 
arm,  walked  from  the  church  on  flowers  strewn  on  the  path 
by  the  girls  who  a few  years  before  had  been  her  school- 
fellows. 


SUCCESS  ACHIEVED. 


239 


“ What  an  incongruous  time  for  such  a letter  to  arrive  ! ” 
said  Mr.  Creswell  to  Marian,  as  they  were  waiting  for  the 
carriage  to  drive  to  the  railway,  handing  her  a paper. 
She  took  it  and  read  : 

“Dear  Sir, 

General  E.  will  be  about  six  weeks  hence. 
Please  be  prepared.  We  calculate  on  you  for  B. 

“ Yours  truly, 

“ J.  Gould.” 

“ I can’t  understand  it,”  said  Marian.  “ Wlio  is 
General  E.,  and  where  will  he  be  about  six  weeks  hence? 
Why  are  you  to  be  prepared,  and  what  is  B.  that  they 
calculate  on  you  for  ? ” 

“ General  E.,”  said  Mr.  Creswell,  laughing,  “ is  the 
general  election,  and  B.  is  Brocksopp,  for  which  borough 
I’ve  promised  to  stand.  However,  there’s  enough  of  that 
now.  My  darling,  I hope  you  will  never  regret  this 
day.” 

“ I am  certain  I shall  not,”  she  replied,  quite  calmly. 


240 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE  GIRLS  THEY  LEFT  BEHIND  THEM. 

It  is  a conventional,  but  by  no  means  a correct,  notion,  that 
at  the  time  of  a social  separation  those  who  are  left  behind 
have  so  very  much  the  worst  of  it.  People  imagine  that 
those  who  remain  must  necessarily  be  so  dull  after  the 
departure  of  their  friends  ; though  very  frequently  those 
departing  are  the  very  persons  who  have  imported  gloom 
and  misery  into  the  household,  who  have  sat  like  social  old 
men  and  women  of  the  sea  on  the  necks  of  the  jovial  Sind- 
bads,  who  have  been  skeletons  at  the  feast,  and  wet 
blankets,  and  bottle-stoppers,  and  kill-joys,  and  mirth- 
quenchers,  and  story-balkers.  It  is  by  no  means  an  un- 
common occurrence,  that  there  has  been  no  such  pleasant 
music  for  weeks,  in  the  ears  of  those  remaining  in  the 
house,  as  the  noise  of  the  wheels  of  the  carriage  speeding 
the  parting  guest. 

The  people  of  Helmingham  village,  when  they  saw  the 
carriage  containing  Mr.  C reswell  and  his  bride  spinning 
away  to  the  station,  after  indulging  in  a fresh  theme  of 
talk  expressive  of  their  surprise  at  all  that  had  happened, 
and  their  delight  at  the  cleverness  of  the  schoolmaster’s 
daughter,  who  had,  as  they  politely  expressed  it,  “ carried 
her  pigs  to  such  a good  market,”  began  to  discuss  the 
situation  at  Woolgreaves ; and  as  it  had  been  universally 
agreed  that  the  day  should  be  made  a general  holiday,  the 
new-married  folk,  and  their  kith  and  kin,  their  past  and 
future,  were  served  up  as  topics  of  conversation,  not 
merely  at  the  various  village  tea-tables,  but  in  the  com- 
mercial room  of  the  Lion  at  Brocksopp,  which,  there  being 
no  commercial  gentlemen  staying  in  the  house,  had  been 
yielded  up  to  the  tenantry  on  the  estate,  who  were  given 
to  understand  that  Mr.  Teesdale,  Mr.  Creswell’s  agent, 
would  attend  to  the  bill.  It  was  long  since  the  Lion  had 


THE  GIRLS  THEY  LEFT  BEHIND  THEM. 


241 


done  such  a roaring  trade,  for  the  commercial  gents,  by 
whom  the  house  was  chiefly  frequented,  though  convivial 
souls,  were  apt  to  be  convivial  on  small  orders,  “ fours  ” of 
rum  and  “ sixes  ” of  brandy ; and  it  was  only  on  excep- 
tional occasions  that  old  Mr.  Mulock,  who  “ travelled  in 
hardware,”  would  suffer  himself  to  be  fined  a crown  bowT 
of  punch  for  having  committed  the  uncommercial  atrocity 
of  smoking  in  the  commercial  room  before  seven  o’clock, "or 
young  Mr.  Cunynghame,  who  represented  his  own  firm  in 
Scotch  goods — a very  pushing  young  gentleman,  and  a 
wonderful  fellow  to  get  on — would  “ stand  champagno 
round  ” when  he  had  received  a specially  remunerative 
order.  But  now  Miss  Parkhurst,  in  the  bar,  had  not  a 
second  to  herself,  the  demand  for  her  strong  mahogany- 
coloured  brandy-and- water  was  so  great ; steaming  jorums 
of  “ hot  with  ” here,  huge  goblets  of  “ cold  without  ” there; 
the  fascinating  Hebe  of  the  Lion  had  not  dispensed  so 
much  drink  at  one  time  since  the  day  when  old  Major 
Barth  was  returned  in  the  Conservative  interest  for  Brock- 
sopp — and  the  major,  it  is  allowed,  was  not  merely  a hard 
drinker  himself,  but  the  cause  of  hard  drinking  in  others ; 
while  as  for  old  Tilley,  the  jolly  landlord,  he  was  so  over- 
whelmed with  the  exertion  of  punch-compounding,  that  he 
took  off  the  short-tailed  snuff-coloured  coat  which  he 
usually  wore,  and  went  to  work  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  slicing 
lemons,  mixing,  strengthening,  sweetening — ay,  and  tasting 
too — until  his  pleasant  face,  always  round  and  red,  assumed 
a greater  rotundity  and  an  extra  glow,  and  his  little,  short, 
fat  body  ached  again  with  fatigue. 

But,  as  is  very  often  the  case  in  better  society  than 
that  with  which  we  are  now  engaged,  the  amount  of  con- 
versation indulged  in  had  not  been  in  equal  ratio  with 
the  amount  of  liquor  consumed.  They  were  very  quiet 
drinkers  in  those  parts,  and  on  great  occasions  sat  round 
the  council  fire  as  silently  and  gravely  as  a set  of 
aboriginal  Indians.  They  had  touched  lightly  on  the 
subject  of  the  wedding,  but  only  as  men  who  know  that 
they  had  an  interminable  subject  at  hand,  ready  to  fall 

u 


242 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


back  upon  whenever  they  felt  disposed,  and  from  that  they 
had  jumped  at  a tangent  to  discussing  the  chances  of  the 
lambing  season,  where  they  were  far  more  at  home,  and 
much  more  practical  in  what  they  had  to  say.  The 
fertility  of  Farmer  Gardner’s  ewes,  or  the  carelessness  of 
Tom  Howson,  Farmer  Jeffrey’s  shepherd,  were  topics 
which  went  home  to  every  man  present ; on  which  each 
had  a distinct  opinion,  which  he  delivered  with  far  greater 
force  and  emphasis  than  when  called  upon  to  pronounce 
upon  an  analysis  of  the  guiding  motives  of  the  human 
heart  in  connection  with  the  choice  of  a husband.  Indeed, 
so  much  had  to  be  said  upon  the  subject  of  these  “ yows,” 
that  the  conversation  began  to  become  rather  tiresome  to 
some  members  of  the  company,  who  were  also  tenants  of 
the  bridegroom’s,  but  whose  business  connections  were 
rather  with  commerce  than  agriculture  or  stock-purchase. 
These  gentry,  who  would  have  sat  interested  for  that 
indefinite  period  knowm  as  “ a blue  moon,”  had  the  talk 
been  of  markets,  and  prices,  and  “ quotations,”  at  length 
thought  it  time  to  vary  the  intellectual  repast,  and  one  of 
them  suggested  that  somebody  should  sing  a song.  In 
itself  not  a bad  proposition,  but  one  always  hard  4o  be 
properly  carried  out.  A dead  silence  fell  upon  the 
company  at  once,  broken  by  Farmer  Whicher,  who  de- 
clared he  had  often  heard  neighbour  Croke  “ wobble  like  a 
lavrock,”  and  moved  that  neighbour  Croke  be  at  once 
called  upon.  Called  upon  Mr.  Croke  was  unanimously, 
but  being  a man  of  uncertain  temper  he  nearly  spoiled  the 
harmony  of  the  evening  by  declaring  flatly  that  he  would 
be  “ darnged  ” if  he  would.  A bookkeeper  in  one  of  the 
Brocksopp  mills,  a young  man  of  literary  tendencies,  who 
had  erected  several  in  memoriam  tombstones  to  his  own 
genius  in  the  Brocksopp  Banner  and  County  Chronicle , then 
proposed  that  Mr.  M‘Shaw,  who,  as  the  speaker  remarked, 
“ came  from  the  land  which  produced  the  inspired  excise- 
man,” would  favour  them  with  a Scotch  ballad.  But  Mr. 
M‘Shaw  declined  the  compliment.  A thrifty  man,  with  a 
large  family,  Alick  M‘Shaw  always  kept  himself  in  check 


THE  GIRLS  THEY  LEFT  BEHIND  THEM. 


243 


in  every  way  where  expense  was  concerned,  and  now  for 
the  first  time  for  years  he  found  himself  in  the  position  of 
being  able  to  consume  a large  quantity  of  whisky,  without 
being  called  upon  to  pay  for  it.  He  knew  that  the  time 
taken  up  in  singing  the  ballad  would  be  so  much  time 
wasted,  during  which  he  must  perforce  leave  off  drinking; 
and  so,  though  he  had  a pretty  tenor  voice,  and  sang  very 
fairly,  he  pleaded  a cold  and  made  his  excuse.  Finally, 
everybody  having  been  tried,  and  everybody  having  in 
more  or  less  cantankerous  manner  refused,  it  fell  upon 
Farmer  Whicher  to  sing  that  ditty  for  which  he  was  well 
known  for  a score  of  miles  round,  which  he  had  sung  for 
nearly  a third  of  a century  at  various  harvest-homes, 
shearing-feasts,  and  other  country  merry-makings,  and 
which  never  failed — it  being  a supposed  joyous  and  bac- 
chanalian chant — in  crushing  the  spirits  and  subduing  the 
souls  of  those  who  listened  to  it.  It  was  a performance 
which  never  varied  the  smallest  iota  in  its  details.  The 
intending  singer  first  laid  down  his  pipe,  carefully  knock- 
ing out  the  ashes,  and  placing  it  by  his  right  hand  to  act 
on  emergency  as  a conductor’s  baton;  then,  assuming  a 
most  dismal  expression  of  countenance,  he  glared  round 
into  the  faces  of  those  surrounding  him  to  sue  for  pity,  or 
to  see  if  there  were  any  chance  of  a reprieve,  and  finding 
neither,  he  would  clear  his  throat,  which  was  in  itself  an 
operation  of  some  magnitude,  and  commence  the  song  as  a 
solemn  recitation ; but  the  chorus,  which  was  duly  sung 
by  all  present,  each  man  using  the  most  doleful  tune  with 
which  he  was  best  acquainted,  ran  thus  : 

‘ Then  push,  push,  push  the  bowl  about, 

And  push  the  bowl  to  me-ee — 

The  longer  we  sits  here,  and  drinks, 

The  merr-i-er  we  shall  be  ! ” 

It  is  doubtful  to  what  extent  this  doleful  dirge  might 
have  been  protracted,  for  the  number  of  verses  is  beyond 
human  reckoning,  and  the  more  frequently  the  choruses 
were  repeated  the  more  they  are  prolonged;  but  Mr. 
Teesdale,  the  agent,  a shrewd  man  of  business,  saw  his 


244 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


opportunity  for  making  a cast,  and  accordingly,  at  the  end 
of  the  ninth  stanza,  he  banged  the  table  with  such  energy 
that  his  cue  was  taken  by  the  more  knowing  ones,  and  the 
harmony  was  abandoned  as  Mr.  Teesdale  went  on  to 
say— 

“ Capital,  bravo,  excellent ! Always  look  to  you, 
Whicher,  to  sing  us  a good  song  ! First  time  I heard  you 
sing  that  was  years  ago,  when  our  old  friend  Hardy  gave  us 
a supper  on  the  occasion  of  opening  his  dancing-school ! 
Poor  Hardy,  not  well,  eh  ? or  he’d  have  been  here  among 
us.  Push  the  bowl  about,  eh  ? Ah,  we’re  likely  to  have 
plenty  of  that  sort  of  fun  soon,  if  I’m  correctly  informed  ! ’* 
“ What’s  that,  Muster  Teesdale  ? ” asked  Farmer 
Adams.  “ Somebody  going  to  be  married,  eh?  ” 

“ No,  no,  one  at  a time,  Adams,  one  at  a time ! ” 

“ What’s  cornin’  off  then,  Muster  Teesdale  ? ” 

“ Well,  it’s  expected  that  in  about  a couple  of  months’ 
time  there’ll  be  a general  election,  Mr.  Adams,  and  you 
know  what  that  means ! I wasn’t  far  out  when  I said 
that  the  bowl  would  be  pushed  about  at  such  a time  as 
that,  was  I ? ” 

“That  ’ee  warn’t,  Muster  Teesdale,  that  ’ee  warn’t! 
Not  that  we  hold  much  wi’  ’lections  about  here  ! ” 

“ That’s  ’cos  there’s  no  proper  spirit  of  opp’sition,”  said 
Mr.  Croke,  who  was  accustomed  to  speak  very  loudly 
and  freely  on  political  matters,  and  who  was  delighted 
at  seeing  the  conversation  taking  this  turn;  “that’s  ’cos 
there’s  no  proper  spirit  of  opp’sition,”  he  repeated,  looking 
round  him,  partly  in  triumph,  partly  to  see  if  any 
antagonist  were  making  ready  net  and  spear.  “ They 
Tories  is  ’lowed  to  walk  over  the  course  and  du  just  as 
pleases  ’em ! ” 

“ What  sort  of  opp’sition  could  you  expect,  Muster 
Croke  ? ” said  Farmer  Spalding,  puffing  at  his  long 
churchwarden.  “ What  good  could  Lib’rals  do  in  a 
borough  like  this  here  Brocksopp,  for  instance,  where  its 
factories,  and  works,  and  mills,  and  suchlike,  are  held  by 
rich  folk  as  ought  to  be  Lib’rals  and  is  Tories  ? ” 


THE  GIRLS  THEY  LEFT  BEHIND  THEM. 


245 


“ Why  ought  they  ? ” asked  Mr.  Croke  ; and  while  his 
interlocutor  was  gathering  up  his  answer,  old  Croke 
added,  “ I’m  all  for  argeyment ! I’m  a Tory  rays  el’,  as  all 
my  house  have  "been,  but  I like  to  see  a opp’sition  in 
everything,  and  a proper  fight,  not  one-sided  ’lections, 
such  as  we  have  seen ! Well,  Muster  Spalding,  and 
why  should  our  rich  party  folk  be  Lib’rals  and  not 
Tories  ? ” 

“ Because,”  said  Mr.  Spalding,  fanning  away  the  smoke 
from  before  him,  and  speaking  with  great  deliberation — 
“ because  they  sprung  from  the  people,  and  therefore  their 
symp’ties  should  be  wi’  those  of  whom  they  were  afore 
they  became  rich.” 

“ Like  enough,  like  enough,  neighbour  Spalding. 
That’s  what’s  called  mo-rality,  that  is ; but  it’s  not 
common  sense!  Common  sense  is,  that  it’s  lucky  they 
grew  rich ; they  becam’  Tories,  which  is  the  same  thing 
as  meaning  they  wanted  their  money  taken  care  of.” 

“ Ay,  ay,  that’s  it,  Croke ! ” said  Farmer  Adams. 
“ You’ve  just  hit  the  way  to  put  un ! Lib’rals  when 
they’ve  got  nothing  and  want  everything,  Tories  when 
they’ve  got  something  and  want  to  take  care  of  it.” 

“ Well,  but  what’s  Tories  goin’  to  do  this  time  ? ” asked 
Mr.  Moule,  a maltster  in  the  town.  “ Our  presen’  member, 
Sir  George  Neal,  won’t  stand  again  ! Told  me  so  his  own 
self  last  time  he  was  in  towrn  for  quarter  sessions — says  he’s 
too  old.  My  ’pinion  is  his  wife  won’t  let  un.  He’s  a rum 
un,  is  Sir  George,  and  when  he  gets  up  to  London  by 
himself,  he  goes  it,  they  du  say  ! ” 

“ Nansense,  Moule  ! I wunner  at  a man  o’  your  sense 
talkin’  such  stuff,”  said  Farmer  Croke.  “ That’s  playin’ 
the  Lib’ral  game,  that  is  ! — though  I hev  understood  that 
Sir  George  won’t  come  forrerd  again.” 

“And  the  Lib’rals  is  going  to  mek  a tre-menjous 
struggle  this  time.  I’ve  heerd,”  observed  Moule. 

“ Who  are  they  goin’  to  bring  forrerd,  hev  you  heerd  ? ” 
asked  Mr.  Spalding  with  interest. 

“ Well,  I did  hear,  but  I’ve  a’most  forgot,”  said  Mr. 


246 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


Moule,  who  was  of  a misty  and  a muddled  nature.  “No, 
now  I reck’lect,  it  was  young  Bokenham  ! ” 

“ What,  son  of  old  Tom  Bokenham  of  Blott’s  Mills?” 
asked  Mr.  Spalding. 

“ That  same  ! Old  man’s  terrible  rich,  they  du  say ; 
firm  was  Bokenham  and  Sculthorpe,  but  Seulthorpe  broke 
his  leg  huntin’  wi’  Squire  Peacock’s  harriers,  and  has  been 
out  of  business  for  some  time.” 

“ He’s  just  built  two  saw-mills  in  Galabin  Street,  hasn’t 
he  ? ” asked  Mr.  Croke. 

“ He  has,  and  that  plant  in  Harmer’s  Bow  is  his  too. 
Young  Tom,  he’s  lawyer  up  in  London — lawyer  they  say, 
tho’  I tliowt  he  was  a parson,  as  they  told  me  he  lives  in 
a Temple,  and  he’s  wonderful  clever  in  speakin’  at  club- 
meetin’s  and  suchlike,  and  they  du  say  that  he’s  not  only 
a Lib’ral,  but” — and  here  Mr.  Moule  sank  his  voice  to 
a whisper  to  give  due  horror  to  his  revelation — “ that  he’s 
an  out-and-out  Bad. ! ” 

“ You  don’t  say  that ! ” said  Farmer  Adams,  pushing 
away  his  chair  with  a creak,  and  gazing  with  terror  at  the 
speaker. 

“ They  du  ! ” said  Mr.  Moule,  delighted  and  astonished 
to  find  himself  of  so  much  importance. 

“ That’s  a bad  job  ! ” said  Mr.  Croke  reflectively ; 
“ they  carry  a main  lot  o’  weight  in  this  borough  do  they 
Bokenhams — a main  lot  of  weight ! ” 

And  Mr.  Croke  shook  his  head  with  great  solemnity. 

“ Don’t  be  down-hearted,  Mr.  Croke  ! ” said  Mr.  Tees- 
dale,  who  had  been  a silent  and  an  amused  spectator 
of  this  scene.  “ No  doubt  Tommy  Bokenham,  who  they 
say  is  a clever  chap,  and  who’ll  be  well  backed  by  his 
father’s  banking  account,  is  a formidable  opponent.  But  I 
much  doubt  if  our  side  won’t  be  able  to  bring  forward 
some  one  with  as  good  a head  on  his  shoulders  and  as 
much  brass  in  his  pockets  ! ” 

“ Where’s  he  to  be  found,  Muster  Teesdale  ? Sir 
George  won’t  stand,  and  it  would  welly  nigh  break  any  one 
else’s  back  in  the  neighbr’ood,  ’less  it  were  young  Bideout, 
and  all  his  money  goes  in  horse-racin’ ! ” 


THE  GIRLS  THEY  LEFT  BEHIND  THEM. 


247 


“ What  should  you  say,”  said  Mr.  Teesdale,  becoming 
very  much  swollen  with  importance — “ what  should  you 
say  to  Mr.  Creswell  ?” 

“ Muster  Creswell ! What,  Squire  Creswell,  your 
master,  Muster  Teesdale?”  exclaimed  Croke,  completely 
astounded. 

“ My  employer — Squire  Creswell,  my  employer  ! ” said 
Mr.  Teesdale,  making  a mental  note  to  refuse  Farmer 
Croke  the  very  next  request  he  made,  no  matter  what  it 
might  be. 

“Are  you  in  ayrnest,  Muster  Teesdale?”  asked 
Spalding.  “Is  th’  old  squire  cornin’  forward  for  Parly- 
ment?” 

“ He  is,  indeed,  Mr.  Spalding,”  replied  Teesdale ; “ and 
he’ll  make  the  Lion  his  head-quarters,  won’t  he,  Mr. 
Tilley  ? ” he  said  to  the  old  landlord,  who  had  just  entered 
bearing  a steaming  bowl  of  punch. 

“ I hope  so,  sir — I hope  so  ! ” said  the  old  man  in  his 
cheery  voice.  “ The  Lion  always  was  the  Blue  house. 
I’ve  seen  Sir  George  Neal,  quite  dead-beat  wi’  fatigue  and 
hoarse  wi’  hollerin’,  held  up  at  that  window  by  Squire 
Armstrong  on  one  side,  and  Charley  Bea,  him  as  left  here 
and  went  away  to  Chiney  or  some  furrin  part,  on  the 
other,  and  screechin’  for  cheers  and  Kentish  fires  and 
Lord  knows  what  to  the  mob  outside ! I ha’  got  the  blue 
banner  somewhere  now,  that  Miss  Good,  as  was  barmaid 
here  afore  Miss  Parkhurst  came,  ’broidered  herself  for  Sir 
George  at  last  election.” 

“ Well,  there’ll  be  no  banners  or  anything  of  that  kind 
now,  Tilley ; that’s  against  the  law,  that  is,  but  there’ll  be 
plenty  of  fun  for  all  that,  and  plenty  of  fighting,  for  the 
matter  of  that,  for  Mr.  Creswell  means  to  win  ! ” 

“ He  really  du  ? ” asked  Farmer  Croke,  once  more  in 
high  spirits. 

“ He  really  does  ! And,  what’s  more,  I may  tell  you, 
gentlemen,  as  it’s  no  longer  any  secret,  that  Mr.  Creswell’s 
candidature  is  approved  by  her  Majesty’s  Government,  by 
Sir  George  Neal,  and  by  the  principal  county  gentlemen, 


248 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


so  that  there’s  no  likelihood  of  any  split  in  the  Con- 
servative camp ! And  as  for  young  Mr.  Bokenham,  of 
whom  our  friend  Moule  here  has  told  us  so  much,  well — 
even  if  he  is  all  that  our  friend  Moule  has  made  him  out 
— we  must  try  and  beat  him  even  then  ! ” 

Poor  Mr.  Moule!  it  was  lucky  he  had  enjoyed  his 
temporary  notoriety,  for  the  sarcasm  of  the  agent  speedily 
relegated  him  to  his  old  post  of  butt  and  dolt. 

The  household  at  Woolgreaves  seemed  to  get  on  very 
well  during  the  absence  of  its  legitimate  heads.  The 
young  ladies  rather  gloried  in  their  feeling  of  inde- 
pendence, in  the  freedom  from  the  necessity  of  having  to 
consult  any  one  or  to  exercise  the  smallest  system  of 
restraint,  and  they  took  pleasure  in  sitting  with  Mrs. 
Ashurst  and  ministering  to  her  small  wants.  They  had 
always  had  a kindly  feeling  towards  the  old  lady,  and  this 
had  been  increased  by  her  helplessness,  and  by  her  evident 
unconsciousness  of  the  manner  in  which  the  woild  was 
slipping  away  from  her.  There  is  something  sad  in 
witnessing  the  struggle  for  resignation  with  which 
persons,  smitten  with  mortal  disease,  and  conscious  of 
their  fate,  strive  to  give  up  all  worldly  hopes  and  cares, 
and  to  wean  their  thoughts  and  aspirations  from  those 
things  on  which  they  have  hitherto  been  bent ; but  there 
is  something  infinitely  more  sad  in  watching  the  sick-bed 
of  one  who  is  all  unconscious  of  the  fiat  that  has  gone 
forth,  who  knows,  indeed,  that  her  strength  is  not  what  it 
was,  but  who  has  no  idea  that  the  hand  is  already  uplifted 
and  the  dart  already  poised.  Mrs.  Ashurst  was  in  this 
last-named  condition;  she  had  gradually  been  growing 
weaker  and  weaker,  but  there  were  times  when  she 
plucked  up  wonderfully,  and  when  she  would  talk  of 
things  present,  ay,  and  of  things  future,  as  though  she 
had  years  of  life  to  run.  The  girls  encouraged  her  to 
talk.  Dr.  Osborne  had  told  them  that  she  must  be 
“ roused  ” as  much  as  possible,  and  they  would  sit  with 
her  and  chatter  for  hours,  the  old  lady  taking  no  incon- 


THE  GIRLS  THEY  LEFT  BEHIND  THEM. 


249 


siderable  share  in  the  conversation.  It  was  astonishing 
with  what  unanimity  they  had  hitherto  kept  off  the 
subject  of  the  marriage,  the  very  topic  which  one  might 
have  imagined  would  have  been  the  first  they  would  have 
discussed ; but  whenever  they  came  near  it,  whenever 
they  grew  “ warm,”  as  children  say  in  the  old-fashioned 
game,  they  seemed  by  tacit  instinct  bound  to  draw  away 
and  leave  it  untouched.  At  last  one  day,  after  the  married 
couple  had  been  a week  absent,  Mrs.  Ashurst  said  quietly — 

“Maude,  my  dear,  weren’t  you  very  much  astonished 
when  you  heard  your  uncle  was  going  to  marry  my 
Marian  ? 55 

“ No,  dear  Mrs.  Ashurst.  Though  I’m  not  very  old, 
I’ve  lived  too  long  to  be  astonished  at  anything,  and 
certainly  that  did  not  surprise  me  ! ” 

“ It  did  me ! ” said  Gertrude,  for  once  venturing  on  an 
independent  remark. 

“ And  why  did  it  surprise  you,  Gerty  ? ” asked  the  old 
lady,  already  smiling  at  the  quaint  reply  which  she  always 
expected  from  Gertrude. 

“ Because  I didn’t  think  uncle  was  so  silly  ! ” Gertrude 
blurted  out.  “ At  least,  I don’t  mean  that  exactly ; don’t 
misunderstand  me,  dear  Mrs.  Ashurst,  but  I never  thought 
that  uncle  would  marry  again  at  all. — Such  an  idea  never 
entered  our  heads,  did  it,  Maude  ? ” But  Maude  declining 
to  play  chorus,  Gertrude  continued : “ And  if  I had 
thought  of  such  a thing,  I should  always  have  set  uncle 
down  as  marrying  some  one  more  his  own  age,  and — and 
that  kind  of  thing  ! ” 

“ There  is  certainly  a great  disparity  of  years  between 
them,”  said  Mrs.  Ashurst,  with  a sigh.  UI  trust  that 
won’t  work  to  the  disadvantage  of  my  poor  dear  girl ! ” 

“ I don’t  think  you  need  fear  that,  dear  old  friend  ! ” 
said  Maude  ; and  then  thinking  that  her  tone  of  voice 
might  have  been  hard,  she  laid  her  hand  on  the  old  lady’s 
shoulder,  and  added,  “ Miss  Ash — I mean  Mrs.  Cres- 
well,  you  know,  is  wise  beyond  her  years!  She  has 
already  had  the  management  of  a large  household,  which, 


250 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


as  I understand,  she  conducted  excellently ; and  even  did 
she  show  a few  shortcomings,  uncle  is  the  last  man  to 
notice  them  ! ” 

“ Yes,  my  dear,  I know  ; but  I didn’t  mean  that ! I 
was  selfishly  thinking  whether  Marian  had  done  rightly 
in  accepting  a man  so  much  older  than  herself.  She  did 
it  for  my  sake,  poor  child — she  did  it  for  my  sake ! ” And 
the  old  lady  burst  into  tears. 

“ Don’t  cry,  dear ! ” said  Gertrude.  “ You  are  not  to 
blame,  I’m  sure,  whatever  has  happened.” 

“ How  can  you  make  yourself  so  perfectly  ridiculous, 
Gertrude?”  said  strong-minded  Maude.  “No  one  is  to 
blame  about  anything!  And,  my  dear  Mrs.  Ashurst,  I 
don’t  think,  if  I were  you,  I should  look  upon  your 
daughter’s  present  proceeding  as  such  an  act  of  self- 
sacrifice.  Depend  upon  it  she  is  very  well  pleased  at  her 
new  dignity  and  position.”  Maude  knew  that  the  Cres- 
wells  were  only  “ new  people,”  but  she  could  not  sit  by 
and  hear  them  patronised  by  a schoolmaster’s  widow. 

“Well,  my  dear,  very  likely,”  said  the  old  lady 
meekly ; “ though  she  might  have  been  a baronet’s  lady 
if  she  had  only  chosen.  I’m  sure  young  Sir  Joseph 
Attride  would  have  proposed  to  her,  with  a little  more 
encouragement ; and  though  my  poor  husband  always 
said  he  had  pudding  in  his  head  instead  of  brains,  that 
wouldn’t  have  been  any  just  cause  or  impediment.  You 
never  heard  about  Sir  Joseph,  Maude?  ” 

“ No ; Miss  Ashurst  never  spoke  to  us  of  any  of  her 
conquests,”  said  Maude,  with  something  of  a sneer. 

“ Well,  my  dear,  Marian  was  never  one  to  say  much, 
you  know ; but  I’m  sure  she  might  have  done  as  well  as 
any  girl  in  the  county,  for  the  matter  of  that.  There 
was  Sir  J oseph,  and  young  Mr.  Peacock  before  he  went  up 
to  live  in  London,  and  a young  German  who  was  over 
here  to  learn  English — Burckhardt  his  name  was,  and  I 
think  his  friends  were  counts,  or  something  of  that  kind, 
in  their  own  country — oh,  quite  grand,  I assure  you ! ” 

“ I wonder  whether  uncle  knows  of  all  these  former 
rivals  ? ” asked  Gertrude. 


THE  GIRLS  THEY  LEFT  BEHIND  THEM.  251 

f “ No,  my  clear,  of  course  lie  doesn’t,  and  of  course 
Marian  would  not  be  such  a goose  as  to  tell  him.  I think 
I’ll  sleep  for  a bit  now,  dears ; I’m  tired.” 

They  kissed  her,  and  left  the  room ; but  before  the  old 
lady  had  dropped  off,  she  said  to  herself,  “ I wasn’t  going 
to  let  them  crow  over  me,  or  think  that  my  Marian 
couldn’t  have  had  her  pick  and  choice  of  a husband,  if 
she’d  been  so  minded.” 

Maude  and  Gertrude  were  going  towards  the  garden, 
after  leaving  Mrs.  Ashurst ; they  saw  the  postman  quit- 
ting the  door,  and  the  servant  came  to  them  with  a letter, 
which  she  handed  to  Maude.  That  young  lady  opened 
and  read  it,  but  she  could  scarcely  have  gone  through  a 
few  lines,  when  a particularly  stern  expression  came  over 
her  face,  her  brows  were  knit,  and  her  lips  set  tightly 
together. 

“ What’s  the  matter,  Maude?  ” asked  Gertrude,  looking 
on  in  wonder.  “ Who’s  the  letter  from  ? ” 

“ From  our  new  mistress,”  said  the  girl ; “at  least, 
I expect  she  intends  we  should  regard  her  as  such — Mrs. 
Creswell.  They  are  to  be  at  home  at  the  end  of  next 
week,  and  my  lady  thinks  she  shall  require  what  is  now 
our  music-room  for  her  boudoir.  We  can  have  the  room 
at  the  end  of  the  north  passage.  Can  we,  indeed  ! How 
very  considerate  ! And  it’s  no  use  appealing  to  uncle  ! 
He  daren’t  help  us,  I know  ! What  did  I tell  you,  Ger- 
trude ? This  woman  won’t  rest  until  she  has  crushed  us 
into  a state  of  mere  dependence ! ” 


252 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

Wednesday’s  post. 

Lord  Hetherington  was  a powerful  man,  who  had  great 
influence  in  most  things,  but  he  could  not  get  his  letters 
delivered  at  Westhope  before  eleven  o’clock.  Not  that 
he  had  not  tried.  He  had,  as  he  expressed  it,  “ put  on  all 
kinds  of  screws,”  but  he  could  not  manage  it,  and  if  he 
had  had  to  wait  for  the  regular  delivery  by  the  walking 
postman,  it  would  have  been  much  later.  A groom,  how- 
ever, always  attended  at  the  nearest  post-town  on  the 
arrival  of  the  London  mail,  and  rode  over  with  the  West- 
hope  letter-bag,  which  was  unlocked  by  the  butler,  and 
its  contents  distributed.  There  was  never  much  curiosity 
or  anxiety  about  letters  exhibited  at  Westhope,  at  least, 
amongst  the  members  of  the  family.  Of  course  young 
visitors  had  occasional  faint  flutterings  of  interest  about 
a certain  portion  of  their  correspondence,  but  they  were 
tGO  true  to  the  teachings  of  their  order  to  allow  any  vulgar 
signs  of  excitement  to  be  visible;  while  the  letters  received 
by  Lord  and  Lady  Hetherington  were  too  uniformly  dull 
to  arouse  the  smallest  spark  of  emotion  in  the  breast  of 
any  one,  no  matter  how  excitably  inclined.  Lady  Caroline 
Mansergh’s  correspondence  was  of  a different  kind.  A 
clever  woman  herself,  she  was  in  the  habit  of  writing  to, 
and  receiving  letters  from,  clever  people  ; but  they  simply 
contained  gossip  and  small-talk,  which  might  be  read  at 
any  time,  and  which,  while  pleasant  and  amusing  when 
taken  in  due  course,  did  not  invite  any  special  eagerness 
for  its  acquisition.  In  a general  way,  Lady  Caroline  was 
quite  content  to  have  her  letters  brought  to  her  in  what- 
ever room  she  might  happen  to  be,  but  on  this  Wednesday 
morning  she  was  seated  at  the  window  as  the  postbag- 
bearing groom  came  riding  up  the  avenue,  and  a few 
minutes  afterwards  she  stepped  out  into  the  hall,  where 


WEDNESDAYS  POST. 


253 


the  butler  had  the  letters  out  on  the  table  before  him,  and 
ran  her  eye  over  them. 

There  it  was,  that  plain,  square  letter,  addressed  to 
him  in  the  firm,  plain  hand,  and  bearing  the  Brocksopp 
postmark!  There  it  was,  his  life-verdict,  for  good  or 
ill.  Nothing  to  be  judged  of  it  by  its  appearance — firm, 
square,  and  practical ; no  ridiculous  tremors  occasioned  by 
hope  or  fear  could  have  had  anything  to  do  with  such  a 
sensible-looking  document.  What  was  in  it  ? She  would 
have  given  anything  to  know  ! Not  that  she  seemed  to 
be  in  the  least  anxious  about  it.  She  had  asked  where  he 
was,  and  had  been  told  that  he  was  at  work  in  the  library. 
He  was  so  confident  of  what  Miss  Ashurst’s  answer  would 
be,  that  he  awaited  its  arrival  in  the  most  perfect  calm- 
ness. Would  he  be  undeceived  ? Lady  Caroline  thought 
not  just  yet.  If  the  young  woman  were,  as  Lady  Caroline 
suspected,  playing  a double  game,  she  would  probably  find 
some  excuse  for  not  at  once  linking  her  lot  with  Walter 
Joyce’s — her  mother’s  ill-health  seemed  expressly  suited 
for  the  purpose — and  would  suggest  that  he  should  go 
out  first  to  Berlin,  and  see  how  he  liked  his  new  employ- 
ment, returning  later  in  the  year,  when,  if  all  things 
seemed  convenient,  they  could  be  married.  She  was 
evidently  a clever  girl,  and  these  were  probably  the 
tactics  she  would  pursue.  Lady  Caroline  wondered 
whether  she  was  right  in  her  conjecture,  and  there  was 
the  letter,  a glance  afc  which  would  solve  her  doubts, 
lying  before  her!  What  a ridiculous  thing  that  people 
were  not  allowed  to  read  each  other’s  letters  ! Her  lady- 
ship told  the  butler  to  see  that  that  letter  was  sent  at 
once  to  Mr.  Joyce,  who  was  in  the  library  expecting  it. 

The  Westhope  household  was  eminently  well  drilled, 
and  the  footman  who  handed  the  letter  on  the  salver  to 
Mr.  Joyce  was  as  respectful  as  though  the  secretary  were 
my  lord  himself.  He  had  heard  Lady  Caroline’s  remark 
to  the  butler,  and  had  turned  the  missive  over  and  scru- 
tinised it  as  he  carried  it  along  the  passages.  The  hand- 
writing of  the  address,  though  firm,  was  unmistakably 


254 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


feminine,  and  tlie  footman,  a man  of  the  world,  coupling 
this  fact  with  what  he  had  heard,  arrived  at  the  conclusion 
that  the  letter  was  from  Mr.  Joyce’s  “young  woman.” 
He  walked  up  to  Joyce,  who  was  busily  engaged  in 
writing,  croaked  out,  “ A letter,  sir,”  in  the  tone  usually 
adopted  by  him  to  offer  to  dinner  guests  their  choice 
between  hock  and  champagne,  and  watched  the  secretary’s 
manner.  Joyce  took  the  letter  from  the  salver,  muttered 
his  thanks,  and  turned  back  to  his  work.  The  footman 
bowed  and  left  the  room  with  the  idea,  as  he  afterwards 
remarked  to  the  butler,  that  if  his  suppositions  were 
correct,  the  secretary  was  not  “ a fellow  of  much  warmth 
of  feelin’ ; looked  at  it  and  put  it  down  by  his  arm  as 
though  it  was  a bill,  he  did ! ” 

But  when  the  door  had  shut  behind  the  retreating 
figure  of  the  Mercury  in  plush,  Walter  Joyce  threw  down 
his  pen  and  took  up  the  letter,  and  pressed  it  to  his  lips. 
Then  he  opened  it,  not  eagerly  indeed,  but  with  a bright 
light  in  his  eyes,  and  a happy  smile  upon  his  lips.  And 
then  he  read  it. 

He  started  at  the  first  line,  astonished  at  the  cold  tone 
in  which  Marian  addressed  him,  but  after  that  he  read  the 
letter  straight  through,  without  evincing  any  outward 
sign  of  emotion.  When  he  had  finished  it  he  paused,  and 
shook  his  head  quickly,  as  one  who  has  received  some 
stunning  blow,  and  passed  his  hand  rapidly  across  his 
brow,  then  set  to  work  to  read  the  letter  again.  He  had 
been  through  it  hurriedly  before,  but  this  time  he  read 
every  word,  then  he  pushed  the  paper  from  him,  and  flung 
himself  forward  on  the  desk,  burying  his  face  in  his  hands. 
Thus  he  remained  during  some  ten  minutes;  when  he 
raised  himself,  his  face  was  very  white  save  round  the 
eyes,  where  the  skin  was  flushed  and  strained,  and  his 
hands  trembled  very  much.  He  reeled,  too,  a little  when 
he  first  stood  up,  but  he  soon  conquered  that,  and  began 
silently  pacing  the  room  to  and  fro.  Some  time  after- 
wards, when  asked  to  explain  what  he  had  felt  at  that 
crisis  in  his  life,  Joyce  declared  he  could  not  tell.  Not 


WEDNESDAYS  POST. 


255 


anger  against  Marian,  certainly,  no  vindictive  rage 
against  her  who  had  treated  him  so  basely.  His  life  was 
spoiled,  he  felt  that;  it  had  never  been  very  brilliant,  or  very 
much  worth  having,  but  the  one  ray  which  had  illumined 
it  had  been  suddenly  extinguished,  and  the  future  was  in 
utter  darkness.  He  was  in  the  condition  of  a man  who 
has  been  stunned,  or  has  fainted,  and  to  whom  the  recol- 
lection of  the  events  immediately  engrossing  his  attention 
when,  as  it  were,  he  was  last  in  life,  came  but  slowly. 
He  had  but  a confused  idea  of  the  contents  of  Marian’s 
letter.  Its  general  tenor  of  course  he  knew,  but  he  had  to 
think  over  the  details.  The  letter  was  there,  lying  before 
him  on  the  desk  where  he  had  thrown  it,  but  he  seemed 
to  have  an  odd  but  invincible  repugnance  to  reading  it 
again.  After  a somewhat  laborious  process  of  thought  he 
remembered  it  all.  She  was  going  to  be  married  to  Mr. 
Creswell — that  was  it.  She  could  not  face  a life  of 
poverty,  she  said ; the  comforts  and  luxuries  which  she 
had  enjoyed  for  the  last  few  months  had  become  necessary 
to  her  happiness,  and  she  had  chosen  between  him  and 
them.  She  did  not  pretend  to  care  for  the  man  she  was 
about  to  marry ; she  merely  intended  to  make  use  of  him 
as  the  means  to  an  end.  Poor  Marian ! that  was  a bad 
state  for  her  to  be  in — poor  Marian  ! She  had  jilted  him, 
but  she  had  sacrificed  herself : he  did  not  know  which  was 
the  more  forlorn  out-look. 

Yes,  it  was  all  over  for  him ! Nothing  mattered 
much  now ! Copy  out  anecdotes  from  the  family  chronicles, 
hunt  up  antiquities  and  statistics  for  those  speeches  with 
which  Lord  Hetherington  intended  to  astonish  the  world 
in  the  forthcoming  session,  settle  down  as  librarian  and 
secretary  for  as  long  as  this  noble  family  would  have  him, 
and  when  they  kicked  him  out,  live  by  literary  hack 
work  until  he  found  another  noble  family  ready  to  receive 
him  in  the  old  capacity  for  a hundred  and  fifty  pounds 
a year.  Why  not  ? He  smiled  grimly  to  himself  as  he 
thought  of  the  Berlin  proposition,  and  how  astonished  old 
Byrne  would  be  when  he  wrote  to  decline  it — for  ho  should 


256 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


decline  it  at  once.  He  had  thought  about  it  so  often  and 
so  much,  he  had  allowed  his  imagination  to  feast  him 
with  such  pictures  of  himself  established  there  with 
Marian  by  his  side,  that  he  felt  utterly  unable  to  face  the 
dark  blank  reality,  heartbroken  and  alone.  Besides,  what 
motive  had  he  for  work  now  ? Experience  had  taught  him 
that  he  could  always  find  sufficient  press-work  in  London 
to  keep  body  and  soul  together,  and  what  more  did  he 

want ! What  more  did Was  it  all  real,  or  was  he 

dreaming?  Marian!  was  it  all  over  between  him  and 
her  ? was  she  no  longer  his  Marian  ? was  he  never  to  see 
her,  to  touch  her  hand,  to  hold  her  in  his  arms,  to  live  in 
the  light  of  those  loving  eyes  again  ? He  thought  of  their 
last  conversation  and  their  parting,  he  thought  of  his  last 
letter  to  her,  so  full  of  hope  and  love ; so  tender  of  the 
past,  so  full  of  the  future;  and  there,  to  that,  was  the 
reply  lying  before  him  announcing  her  marriage.  Her 
marriage  ? — her  sale  ! She  had  bartered  herself  away  for 
fine  houses,  horses,  carriages,  dresses ; she,  daughter  of 
James  Aslrurst,  who  had  loved  her  as  the  apple  of  his  eye, 
and  would  as  soon  Lave  thought  of  her  renouncing  her 
religion  as  of  her  breaking  her  plighted  word. 

It  was  odd  he  could  not  explain  it ; but  his  thoughts 
ran  more  upon  her  than  upon  himself.  He  found  himself 
picturing  her  as  the  squire’s  lady,  taking  up  her  position 
in  society,  seated  at  the  head  of  her  table,  receiving  her 
guests,  at  church  in  the  pew  which  he  recollected  so  well. 
He  recollected  the  back  of  her  head,  and  the  kneeling  figure 
as  he  had  noticed  it  Sunday  after  Sunday  when  he  sat 
amongst  the  boys  in  the  school  pew  immediately  behind 
her,  recollected  the  little  grave  bow  she  would  give  him 
as  she  passed  to  her  seat,  and  the  warm  hand-pressure 
with  which  she  always  met  him  after  morning  service. 
His  love  had  lived  on  that  warm  hand-pressure  for  days; 
hers,  it  seems,  was  not  so  easily  nourished.  He  wondered 
at  himself  for  the  way  in  which  he  found  himself  thinking 
of  her.  Had  the  mere  notion  of  such  treatment  ever 
entered  his  mind,  he  should  have  been  raving ; now  when 


Wednesday’s  post. 


257 


the  actual  fact  had  occurred,  he  was  quiet.  He  ran  through 
the  whole  matter  in  his  mind  again,  pointed  out  to  himself 
the  deception  that  she  had  practised  on  him,  the  gross 
breach  of  faith  of  which  she  had  been  guilty,  showed  himself 
plainly  how  her  desertion  of  him  had  sprung  from  the 
basest  motives,  not  from  lack  of  love  for  him,  not  from  over- 
weening fancy  for  another — those  were  human  motives 
and  might  be  pardoned  her — but  from  mere  avarice  and 
mammon- worship.  And,  after  cogitating  over  all  this,  he 
felt  that  he  pitied  rather  than  hated  her,  and  that  as  to 
himself  he  had  not  the  remotest  care  what  became  of  him. 

A knock  at  the  door,  and  before  he  could  answer  Lady 
Caroline  had  entered  the  room.  Joyce  was  rather  pleased 
than  otherwise  at  the  interruption.  He  had  taken  her  lady- 
ship so  far  into  his  confidence  that  it  was  impossible  to  hide 
from  her  this  last  act  in  the  drama,  and  it  was  infinitely 
pleasanter  that  the  explanation  should  come  about  here — 
accidentally,  as  it  were — than  that  he  should  have  to  seek 
her  with  his  story. 

“ Good  morning,  Mr.  Joyce.” 

“ Good  morning,  Lady  Caroline.” 

“ Mr.  Joyce,  a triumphal  procession,  consisting  of  Lady 
blethering  ton  and  the  new  housekeeper,  is  marching  round 
the  house,  settling  what’s  to  be  done  in  each  room  between 
this  and  the  autumn.  I confess  I have  not  sufficient 
strength  of  mind  to  be  present  at  those  solemn  rites,  and 
as  this  is  the  only  room  in  the  house  in  which  no  change 
ever  takes  place — save  the  increase  of  dust,  and  lately  the 
acquisition  of  a bona-fide  student — I have  taken  refuge 
here,  and  have  brought  the  Times  in  order  that  I may  be 
sure  not  to  disturb  you  by  chattering.” 

“ You  will  not  disturb  me  in  the  least,  I assure  you.” 

“ Why,  what  a dreadfully  hollow  voice ! and — Mr. 
Joyce,”  continued  Lady  Caroline,  changing  her  tone, 
“how  very  unwell  you  look — so  strangely  pale  and  drawn! 
Is  anything  the  matter  ? ” 

“ Nothing,  nothing  in  the  least ! ” he  replied.  “ You 
have  been  good  enough  to  let  me  talk  to  you  about  myself 

s 


258 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


and  my  hopes  and  aspirations,  Lady  Caroline  Mansergh. 
You  have  probably  forgotten” — ah,  man,  devoid  of  the 
merest  accidence  of  worldly  grammar  ! — “ you  have  pro- 
bably forgotten  that  this  is  the  morning  on  which  I was  to 
expect  my  answer  from  Miss  Ashurst.  It  has  come ! It 
is  here ! ” and  he  stooped  forward,  picked  from  the  table 
the  letter,  and  handed  it  to  her. 

Lady  Caroline  seemed  rather  surprised  at  this  mode 
of  proceeding.  She  took  the  letter  from  Walter’s  hand,  but 
held  it  unopened  before  her,  and  said — 

“You  wish  me  to  read  it  ? ” 

“If  you  please,”  he  replied.  “There  is  no  other  way 
by  which  you  could  exactly  comprehend  the  situation,  and 
I wish  you  to  be  made  aware  of  it — and — and  to  advise  me 
in  it.” 

Lady  Caroline  blushed  slightly  as  she  heard  these  last 
words,  but  she  said  nothing — merely  bowed  and  opened 
the  letter.  As  she  read  it,  the  flush  which  had  died  away 
returned  more  brightly  than  before,  her  eyes  could  not  be 
seen  under  their  downcast  lids,  but  the  brows  were  knit, 
the  nostrils  trembled,  and  the  mouth  grew  hard  and  rigid. 
She  read  the  letter  through  twice ; then  she  looked  up,  and 
her  voice  shook  as  she  said — 

“ That  is  a wicked  and  base  letter,  very  heartless  and 
very  base ! ” 

“Lady  Caroline  ! ” interrupted  Joyce  appealingly. 

“ What ! do  you  seek  to  defend  it  ?— no,  not  to  defend 
it,  for  in  your  own  heart  you  must  know  I am  right  in  my 
condemnation  of  it,  but  to  plead  for  it.  You  don’t  like  to 
hear  me  speak  harshly  of  it—  that’s  so  like  a man  ! I tell 
you  that  it  is  a heartless  and  an  unwomanly  letter ! 
‘ Deepens  the  pain  with  which  she  writes,’  indeed ! 
‘ Deepens  the  pain ! ’ and  what  about  yours  ? It  is  her 
nature  to  love  money  and  comforts,  and  luxuries,  and  to 
shrink  from  privations.  Her  nature  ! What  was  she  bred 
to,  this  duchess  ? ” 

In  his  misery  at  hearing  Marian  thus  spoken  of,  since 
the  blow  had  fallen  upon  him  he  had  never  been  so  miser- 


WEDNESDAY  S POST. 


259 


able  as  then,  when  she  was  attacked,  and  he  saw  the  im- 
possibility of  defending  her.  Joyce  could  not  help 
remarking  that  he  had  never  noticed  Lady  Caroline’s 
beauty  so  much  as  at  that  moment,  when  her  eyes  were 
flashing  and  her  ripe  lips  curling  with  contempt.  But  he 
was  silent,  and  she  proceeded — 

“ She  says  you  are  better  without  her,  and,  though  of 
course  you  doubt  it,  I am  mightily  disposed  to  agree  with 
her ! I — Mr.  J oyce ! ” said  her  ladyship,  suddenly  softening 
her  tone,  “ believe  me,  I feel  earnestly  and  deeply  for  you 
under  this  blow  ! I fear  it  is  none  the  less  severe  because 
you  don’t  show  how  much  you  suffer.  This — this  young 
lady’s  decision  will  of  course  materially  affect  the  future 
which  you  had  plotted  out  for  yourself,  and  of  which  we 
spoke  the  last  time  we  were  here  together  ? ” 

“ Oh  yes,  of  course.  Now  I shall — by  the  way,  Lady 
Caroline,  I recollect  now — it  scarcely  impressed  me  then — 
that  during  that  conversation  you  seemed  to  have  some 
doubts  as  to  what  Marian — as  to  what  might  be  the  reply 
to  the  letter  which  I told  you  I had  written  ? ” 

“ I certainly  had.” 

“ And  you  endeavoured  to  wean  me  from  the  miserable 
self-conceit  under  which  I was  labouring,  and  failed.  I 
recollect  your  hints  now.  Tell  me,  Lady  Caroline,  why 
was  I so  blind  ? What  made  you  suspect  ? ” 

“ My  dear  Mr.  Joyce,  you  were  blind  because  you  were 
in  love  ! I suspected  because,  being  merely  a looker-on — 
an  interested  one,  I acknowledge,  for  I had  a great  interest 
in  your  welfare,  but  still  merely  a looker-on,  and  therefore, 
according  to  the  old  proverb,  seeing  most  of  the  game — I 
could  not  help  noticing  that  the  peculiar  position  of  affairs, 
and  the  length  of  time  you  remained  without  any  news  of 
your  fiancee,  afforded  grave  grounds  of  suspicion.” 

“ Yes,”  said  poor  Walter ; “ as  you  say,  I am  blind. 
I never  noticed  that.” 

“Now,  Mr.  Joyce,”  said  Lady  Caroline,  “the  question 
is  not  with  the  past,  but  with  the  future.  What  do  you 
intend  doing?” 


260 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


“ I have  scarcely  thought.  It  matters  very  little.” 

44  Pardon  my  saying  that  it  matters  very  much.  Do 
you  think  of  taking  up  this  appointment  for  the  newspaper 
that  you  spoke  of — this  correspondentship  in  Berlin?” 

“ No  ; I think  not.  I really  don’t  know — I thought  of 
remaining  as  I am.” 

“ What ! pass  the  rest  of  your  life  in  writing  Lord 
Hetherington’s  letters,  and  cramming  him  for  speeches 
wdiich  he  will  never  deliver  ? ” 

“ It  is  an  honest  and  an  easy  way  of  earning  a living, 
at  all  events.” 

“ Of  earning  a living?  And  are  you  going  to  content 
yourself  with  4 earning  your  living,’  Mr.  J oyce  ? ” 

“ Oh,  Lady  Caroline,  why  should  I do  anything  else  ? 
The  desire  for  making  money  has  gone  from  me  altogether 
with  the  receipt  and  perusal  of  that  letter.  She  was  the 
spur  that  urged  me  on ; my  dreams  of  fame  and  wealth 

and  position  were  for  her,  not  for  myself ; and  now ” 

44  And  now  you  are  going  to  abandon  it  all — do  you 
mean  to  tell  me  that  ? That  you,  a young  man  possessing 
intellect,  and  energy,  and  industry,  with  a career  before 
you,  are  about  to  abandon  that  career,  and  to  condemn 
yourself  to  vegetation — sheer  and  simple  vegetation,  mind, 
not  life — merely  because  you  have  been  grossly  deceived 
by  a woman,  who,  your  common  sense  ought  to  have  told 
you,  has  been  playing  you  false  for  months,  and  who,  as 
she  herself  confesses,  has  all  her  life  rated  the  worthiness 
of  people  as  to  what  they  were  worth  in  money?  You  are 
clearly  not  in  your  right  mind,  Mr.  Joyce.  I am  surprised 
at  you ! ” 

44  What  would  you  have  me  do,  Lady  Caroline  ? You 
sneer  at  the  notion  of  my  remaining  with  Lord  Hethering- 
ton.  Surely  you  would  not  have  me  go  to  Berlin  ? ” 

44 1 never  sneer  at  anything,  my  dear  Mr.  Joyce;  sneer- 
ing shows  very  bad  breeding.  I say  distinctly  that  I 
think  you  would  be  mad  to  fritter  away  your  days  in  your 
present  position.  Nor  do  I think,  under  circumstances, 
you  ought  to  go  to  Berlin.  It  would  have  done  very  well 


Wednesday’s  post. 


261 


as  a stepping-stone  had  things  turned  out  differently ; hut 
now  you  would  he  always  drawing  odious  comparisons 
between  your  solitary  lot  and  the  ‘what  might  have  been,’ 
as  Owen  Meredith  so  sweetly  puts  it.” 

“ Where,  then,  shall  I go  ? ” 

“ To  London.  Where  else  should  any  one  go  with  a 
desire  to  make  a mark  in  the  world,  and  energy  and  deter- 
mination to  aid  him  in  accomplishing  his  purpose  ? And 
this  is  your  case.  Ah,  you  may  shake  your  head,  hut  I 
tell  you  it  is.  You  think  differently  just  now,  hut  when 
once  you  are  there,  ‘ in  among  the  throngs  of  men,’  you 
will  acknowledge  it.  Why,  when  you  were  there,  at  the 
outset  of  your  career,  utterly  friendless  and  alone,  as  you 
have  told  me,  you  found  friends  and  work ; and  now  that 
you  are  known,  and  by  a certain  few  appreciated,  do  you 
think  it  will  he  otherwise  ? ” 

“ You  are  marvellously  inspiriting,  Lady  Caroline,  and 
I can  never  he  sufficiently  grateful  for  the  advice  you 
have  given  me — better  still,  for  the  manner  in  which  you 
have  given  it.  But  suppose  I do  go  to  London,  what — in 
the  cant  phrase  of  the  day — what  am  I to  ‘ go  in  for  ’ ? ” 

“ Newspaper- writing — what  do  they  call  it  ? — journal- 
ism, at  first ; the  profession  in  which  you  were  doing  so 
well  when  you  came  here.  That,  if  I mistake  not,  will  in 
due  course  lead  to  something  else,  about  which  we  will 
talk  at  some  future  time.” 

“ That  is  just  what  I was  coming  to,  Lady  Caroline. 
You  will  allow  me  to  see  you  sometimes  ?” 

“ I shall  he  always  deeply  interested  in  your  welfare, 
Mr.  Joyce,  and  anxious  to  know  how  you  progress.  Oh 
yes ; I hope  both  to  see  and  hear  a great  deal  of  you. 
Besides,  Lord  Hetherington  may  feel  inclined  to  take  up 
the  chrouicles  again;  he  is  rather  off  them  just  now,  I 
know;  and  then  you  can  give  your  successor  some  very 
valuable  hints.” 

When  Lady  Caroline  Mansergh  was  alone  in  her  own 
room  after  this  conversation,  she  reflected  long  and  deeply 
upon  the  effect  which  the  receipt  of  that  letter  would 


262 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


probably  produce  upon  Walter  Joyce,  and  was  sufficiently 
interested  to  analyse  lier  own  feelings  in  regard  to  it. 
Was  sbe  sorry  or  glad  tliat  the  intended  match  had  been 
broken  off,  and  that  Joyce  was  now,  so  far  as  his  heart 
was  concerned,  a free  man?  That  he  was  free  she  was 
certain ; that  he  would  never  return  to  the  old  allegiance 
she  was  positive.  Lady  Caroline  in  her  worldly  experi- 
ence had  frequently  come  across  cases  of  the  kind,  where 
the  tender  regret  which  at  first  forbade  any  harsh  mention, 
scarcely  any  harsh  thought  of  the  false  one,  had  in  a very 
short  time  given  place  to  a feeling  of  mortified  vanity  and 
baffled  desire,  which  prompted  the  frankest  outpourings, 
and  made  itself  heard  in  the  bitterest  objurgations.  The 
question  was,  how  it  affected  her.  Oh  the  whole,  she 
thought  that  she  was  pleased  at  the  result.  She  did  not 
attempt  to  hide  from  herself  that  she  had  a certain  regard 
for  this  young  man,  though  of  the  nature  of  that  regard 
she  had  scarcely  troubled  herself  to  inquire.  One  thing 
she  knew,  that  it  was  very  different  from  what  she  had  at 
first  intended  it  should  be,  from  what  in  the  early  days  of 
their  acquaintance  she  had  allowed  it  to  be.  Of  course, 
with  such  a man,  flirtation,  in  its  ordinary  sense,  was  out 
of  the  question ; she  would  as  soon  have  thought  of  flirting 
with  the  Great  Pyramid  as  with  Walter  Joyce.  In  its 
place  there  had  existed  a kind  of  friendly  interest;  but 
Lady  Caroline  was  fully  cognisant  that,  on  her  side,  that 
friendly  interest  had  been  deepening  and  strengthening, 
until,  after  a little  self-examination,  she  felt  forced  to 
confess  to  herself  that  it  would  bear  another  name.  Then 
came  the  question,  And  if  it  did,  what  matter?  She  had 
never  particularly  set  herself  up  as  a strict  observant  of 
the  conventionalities  or  the  fetish  worship  of  society ; on 
the  contrary,  her  conduct  in  that  respect  had  been  rather 
iconoclastic.  There  need  be  no  surprise,  therefore,  on  the 
part  of  the  world  if  she  chose  to  marry  out  of  what  was 
supposed  to  be  her  “set”  and  station  in  society;  and  if 
there  had  been,  she  was  quite  strong-minded  enough  to 
laugh  at  it.  But  to  a woman  of  Lady  Caroline’s  refine- 


Wednesday’s  post. 


263 


ment  it  was  necessary  tliat  lier  husband  should  be  a 
gentleman,  and  it  was  necessary  for  her  pride  that,  if  not 
her  equal  in  rank,  he  should  not  merely  be  her  superior  in 
talent,  but  should  be  admitted  to  be  so.  Under  the  fresh 
disposition  of  circumstances  she  saw  no  reason  why  this 
should  not  be.  Walter  Joyce  would  go  to  London,  would 
there  resume  his  newspaper  occupations,  and  would  pro- 
bably, as  she  guessed  from  occasional  hints  he  had  recently 
let  fall,  turn  his  attention  more  to  politics  than  he  had 
hitherto  done.  He  must  be  clever,  she  thought.  She 
knew  him  to  be  clever,  in  a woman’s  notion  of  cleverness, 
which  was  so  different  to  a man’s ; but  he  must  surely  be 
clever  in  a man’s  way  too,  or  they  would  never  have 
offered  him  this  Berlin  appointment,  which,  according  to 
her  notions,  required  not  merely  a bright  literary  style, 
but,  in  a far  greater  degree,  the  faculty  of  observation  and 
knowledge  of  the  world.  His  experience  had  been  very 
small,  but  his  natural  ability  and  natural  keenness  must 
be  great.  Granted  his  possession  of  these  gifts,  pushed  as 
he  would  be  by  her  influence — for  she  intended  to  give 
him  some  excellent  introductions — there  was  little  doubt 
of  his  success  in  life,  and  of  his  speedily  achieving  a 
position  which  would  warrant  her  in  accenting  him.  In 
accepting  him  ? Lady  Caroline  laughed  outright,  rather  a 
hard  bitter  laugh,  as  this  idea  crossed  her  mind,  at  the 
remembrance  that  Walter  Joyce  had  never  said  the 
slightest  word,  or  shown  the  smallest  sign,  that  he  cared 
for  her  as — as  she  wished  to  be  cared  for  by  him,  much 
less  that  he  ever  aspired  to  her  hand.  However,  let  that 
pass ! What  was  to  be,  would  be,  and  there  was  plenty  of 
time  to  think  of  such  things.  Meanwhile,  it  was  decidedly 
satisfactory  that  the  engagement  was  broken  off  between 
him  and  that  girl,  whom  Lady  Caroline  had  been  accus- 
tomed to  regard  as  a simple  country  wench,  a bread-and- 
butter  miss,  but  who  certainly  had  done  her  jilting  with  a 
coolness  and  aplomb  worthy  of  a London  beauty  in  her 
third  season.  She  would  have  been  a drag  on  Walter’s 
life;  for,  although  ambitious  to  a degree,  and  always 


264 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


wanting  to  rise  beyond  her  sphere,  she  would  have  induced 
him  to  persevere  at  his  work,  and  have  encouraged  him  to 
great  efforts ; yet,  according  to  Lady  Caroline’s  idea,  fame 
could  not  be  achieved  when  a man  was  surrounded  by 
babies  requiring  to  be  fed,  and  other  domestic  drawbacks, 
and  had  not  merely  himself  but  a large  family  to  drag  up 
the  hill  of  difficulty,  ere  eminence  was  attained.  Now 
Walter  would  be  really  free,  even  from  mental  ties,  Lady 
Caroline  thought,  with  a half  sigh,  and  if  he  were  ever  to 
do  anything  worthy  of  himself,  the  beginning  at  least 
should  be  now. 

The  conversation  with  Lady  Caroline  Mansergh  had 
not  merely  the  effect  of  diverting  Walter  Joyce’s  thoughts 
from  the  contemplation  of  his  own  unhappiness  for  the 
time  being,  but  rousing  within  him  certain  aspirations 
which  he  had  scarcely  ever  previously  entertained,  and 
which,  when  they  had  occasionally  arisen  in  his  mind,  he 
had  successfully  endeavoured  to  stifle  and  ignore.  No 
doubt  the  advice  which  Lady  Caroline  had  given  him  was 
most  excellent,  and  should  be  followed.  There  was  a 
future  before  him,  and  a brilliant  one ! He  would  prove 
to  Marian  (already  his  feelings  towards  her  w^ere  begin- 
ning to  change) — he  would  prove  to  Marian  that  his  life 
was  not  made  utterly  blank  on  account  of  her  cruel  treat- 
ment ; on  the  contrary,  he  would  try  and  achieve  some  end 
and  position,  such  as  he  would  never  have  aspired  to  if  he 
had  remained  in  the  calm  jog-trot  road  of  life  he  had 
planned  for  himself.  He  would  go  to  London,  to  old 
Byrne,  and  see  whether  instead  of  being  sent  to  Berlin  he 
could  not  be  received  on  the  staff  of  the  paper  in  London ; 
and  he  would  turn  his  attention  to  politics — old  Byrne 
would  be  of  immense  use  to  him  there — and  he  would 
study  and  work  night  and  day.  Anything  to  get  on,  any- 
thing to  become  distinguished,  to  make  a name ! 

His  decision  once  taken,  Joyce  lost  no  time  in  com- 
municating it  to  Lord  Hetherington.  He  said  that 
circumstances  of  great  family  importance  necessitated  his 
immediate  return  to  London,  and  would  require  all  the 


Wednesday's  tost 


265 


attention  he  could  bestow  on  them  for  many  months  to 
come.  Lord  Hetherington  was  a little  taken  aback  by  the 
suddenness  of  the  announcement,  but  as  he  had  always  had 
a kindly  feeling  towards  Joyce,  and  since  the  day  of  the 
ice-accident  he  had  regarded  him  with  especial  favour,  he 
put  the  best  face  he  could  on  the  occasion,  and  expressed 
his  great  regret  at  his  secretary’s  intended  departure.  His 
lordship  begged  that  when  Mr.  Joyce  had  any  leisure  time 
at  his  disposal  he  would  call  upon  him  at  Hetherington 
House,  where  they  would  be  always  glad  to  see  him ; and 
Joyce  trusted  that  if  ever  his  lordship  thought  that  he 
(Joyce)  could  be  useful  to  him  in  any  way,  more  especially 
as  connected  with  the  chronicles,  with  which  he  was  so 
familiar,  he  would  do  him  the  honour  to  send  for  him, 
through  Mr.  Byrne,  who  would  always  know  his  address. 
And  thus  they  parted,  after  the  interview,  with  mutual 
expressions  of  goodwill. 

This  was  a little  excitement  for  Lord  Hetherington, 
who  at  once  started  off,  so  soon  as  Joyce  had  left  him,  to 
tell  her  ladyship  the  news. 

Lady  Hetherington  was  far  more  interested  in  the  fact 
that  the  secretary  had  given  warning,  as  she  persisted  in 
calling  it,  than  her  husband  had  anticipated.  She  had 
always,  except  when  temporarily  aroused  on  the  occasion 
of  the  accident,  been  so  determined  to  ignore  Mr.  Joyce’s 
existence,  or  had  treated  him  with  such  marked  coldness 
when  compelled  to  acknowledge  it,  that  his  lordship  was 
quite  astonished  to  see  how  interested  she  showed  herself, 
how  she  persisted  in  cross-questioning  him  as  to  what 
Joyce  had  stated  to  be  the  cause  of  his  leaving,  and  as  to 
whether  he  had  mentioned  it  to  any  other  person  in  the 
house.  On  being  assured  by  her  husband  that  he  had 
come  straight  to  her  boudoir  after  parting  with  the 
secretary,  Lady  Hetherington  seemed  pleased,  and  strictly 
enjoined  the  little  lord  not  to  mention  it  to  any  one. 

They  were  a very  small  party  at  dinner  that  day,  only 
Mr.  Biscoe  being  present  in  addition  to  the  members  of  the 
family.  The  conversation  was  not  very  brisk,  the  countess 


266 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


being  full  of  the  coming  London  season,  a topic  on  which 
Mr.  Biscoe,  who  hated  town,  and  never  went  near  it  when 
he  could  help  it,  could  scarcely  expect  to  be  enthusiastic, 
Lord  Hetherington  being  always  silent,  and  Lady  Caroline 
on  this  occasion  preoccupied.  But  when  the  cloth  was 
removed,  and  the  servants  had  left  the  room,  Lady 
Hetherington,  in  the  interval  of  playing  with  a few 
grapes,  looked  across  at  her  sister-in-law,  and  said — 

“ By  the  way,  Caroline,  Lord  Hethering  ton’s  secretary 
has  given  warning ! ” 

“ You  mean  that  Mr.  Joyce  is  going  away,  is  that  it? 
I thought  so,  but  you  have  such  a curious  way  of  putting 
things,  Margaret ! ” 

“ How  should  I have  put  it  ? I meant  exactly  what  I 
said!” 

“ Oh,  of  course,  if  you  choose  to  import  the  phraseology 
of  the  servants’-hall  into  your  conversation,  you  are  at 
perfect  liberty  to  do  so.” 

“ Anjdiow,  the  fact  remains  the  same.  We  are  to  be 
bereaved  of  the  great  secretary  ! Weren’t  you  astonished 
when  I told  you  ? ” 

“ Not  the  least  in  the  world  ! ” 

“ Because  you  had  heard  it  before?  ” 

“Exactly!” 

“ From  Lord  Hetherington?  ” 

“ Oh  no  ! ” laughed  Lady  Caroline  ; “ don’t  scold  poor 
dear  West  on  the  idea  that  he  had  anticipated  you  ! I 
heard  it  from  Mr.  Joyce  himself.” 

“ Oh,  of  course  you  did ! ” said  Lady  Hetherington, 
slightly  tossing  her  head.  “ Well,  of  course  you’re  very 
much  grieved.  He  was  such  a favourite  of  yours.” 

“ Just  because  I like  Mr.  Joyce  very  much,  or,  as  you 
phrase  it,  because  he  is  a favourite  of  mine,  I’m  very 
pleased  to  think  that  he’s  going  away.  A man  of  his 
abilities  is  lost  in  his  present  position.” 

“I  quite  agree  with  you,  Lady  Caroline,”  said  Mr. 
Biscoe.  “Sound  scholar,  Mr.  Joyce,  clear  head,  well 
grounded,  and  quick  at  picking  up — good  fellow,  too ! ” 


POOR  papa's  successor. 


267 


“ I’m  sure,”  said  Lord  Hetherington,  “ I’ve  grown  so 
accustomed  to  him,  I shall  feel  like — what’s-his-name — fish 
out  of  water  without  him.” 

“ I dare  say  we  shall  manage  to  exist  when  Mr.  Joyce 
has  left  us,”  said  the  countess ; “ we  scrambled  on  some- 
how before,  and  I really  don’t  see  the  enormous  improve- 
ment since  he  came.” 

Nobody  commented  on  this,  and  the  conversation 
dropped.  Lady  Hetherington  was  cross  and  disappointed. 
She  expected  to  have  found  her  sister-in-law  very  much 
annoyed  at  the  fact  of  Mr.  Joyce’s  departure,  whereas,  in 
place  of  visible  grief  or  annoyance,  there  was  a certain  air 
of  satisfaction  about  Lady  Caroline  which  was  dreadfully 
annoying  to  the  countess. 

Two  days  after,  Joyce  left  for  London,  Marian’s  letter, 
on  Lady  Caroline’s  advice,  and  in  accordance  with  his  own 
feelings,  remaining  without  notice. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

POOR  papa’s  successor. 

It  has  been  seen  that  Mr.  Creswell’s  marriage  with 
Marian  Ashurst  was  sufficiently  popular  amongst  the 
farmer  class  at  Ilelmingham,  but  it  was  by  no  means  so 
warmly  received  in  other  grades  of  society.  Up  at  the 
Park,  for  instance,  the  people  could  scarcely  restrain  their 
indignation.  Sir  Thomas  Churchill  had  always  been 
accustomed  to  speak  of  “ my  neighbour,  Mr.  Creswell,”  as 
a “ highly  respectable  man,  sprung,  as  he  himself  does  not 
scruple  to  own,  from  the  people,”  cliirrupped  the  old  Sir 
Thomas,  whose  great-grandfather  had  been  a tanner  in 
Brocksopp, — “ but  eminently  sound  in  all  his  views,  and  a 
credit  to  the — ahem  ! — commercial  classes  of  the  commu- 
nity.” They  sat  together  on  the  magistrates’  bench,  met 


268 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


on  committees  of  charitable  associations,  and  suchlike,  and 
twice  a year  solemnly  had  each  other  to  dinner  to  meet  a 
certain  number  of  other  county  people  on  nights  when 
there  was  a moon,  or,  at  least,  when  the  calendar  showed 
that  there  ought  to  have  been  one.  In  the  same  spirit  old 
Lady  Churchill,  kindliest  of  silly  old  women,  had  been  in 
the  habit  of  pitying  Marian  Ashurst.  “ That  charmin’ 
girl,  so  modest  and  quiet;  none  of  your  fly-away  nonsense 
about  her,  and  clever,  ain’t  she?  I don’t  know  about 
these  things  myself,  but  they  tell  me  so ; and  to  have  to 
go  into  lodgin’s,  and  all  that ! father  a clergyman  of  the 
Church  of  England  too  ! ” — staunch  old  lady,  never  moving 
about  without  the  Honourable  Miss  Grimstone’s  Church- 
service,  in  two  volumes,  in  her  trunk — “ it  really  does  seem 
too  bad  ! ” But  when  the  news  of  the  forthcoming  mar- 
riage began  to  be  buzzed  about,  and  penetrated  to  the 
Park,  Sir  Thomas  did  not  scruple  to  stigmatise  his  neigh- 
bour as  an  old  fool,  while  my  lady  had  no  better  opinion 
of  Miss  Ashurst  than  that  she  was  a “ forward  minx.” 
What  could  have  so  disturbed  these  exemplary  people? 
Not,  surely,  the  low  passions  of  envy  and  jealousy  ? Sir 
Thomas  Churchill,  a notorious  roue  in  his  day,  who  had 
married  the  plainest-headed  woman  in  the  county  for  her 
money,  all  the  available  capital  of  which  he  had  spent, 
could  not  possibly  be  envious  of  the  fresh  young  bride 
whom  his  old  acquaintance  was  bringing  home  ? And 
Lady  Churchill,  to  whom  the  village  gossips  talked  inces- 
santly of  the  intended  redecoration  of  Woolgreaves,  the 
equipages  and  horses  which  were  ordered,  the  establish- 
ment which  was  about  to  be  kept  up,  the  position  in  parlia- 
ment which  was  to  be  fought  for,  and,  above  all,  the  worship 
with  which  the  elderly  bridegroom  regarded  the  juvenile 
bride-elect — these  rumours  did  not  influence  her  in  the 
bitter  depreciation  with  which  she  henceforth  spoke  of  the 
late  schoolmaster’s  daughter  ? Of  course  not ! The  utter- 
ances of  the  baronet  and  his  lady  were  prompted  by  a 
deep  regard  to  the  welfare  of  both  parties,  and  a whole- 
some regret  that  they  had  been  prompted  to  take  a step 


POOR  papa’s  successor. 


269 


which  could  not  be  for  the  future  happiness  of  either,  of 
course. 

Mr,  Benthall,  who,  it  will  be  recollected,  had  suc- 
ceeded the  late  Mr.  Ashurst  at  the  Helmingham  school, 
and  wras  comparatively  new  to  the  neighbourhood,  took 
but  little  interest  in  the  matter,  so  far  as  Miss  Ashurst  was 
concerned.  He  had  a bowing  acquaintance  with  her,  but 
he  had  neither  had  the  wish  nor  the  opportunity  of  getting 
on  more  familiar  terms.  Had  she  married  any  one  else 
but  Mr.  Creswell,  it  would  not  have  mattered  one  jot  to 
the  Bev.  George  Benthall ; but,  as  it  happened,  Mr.  Ben- 
thall had  a certain  amount  of  interest  in  the  doings  of  the 
household  at  Woolgreaves,  and  the  marriage  of  the  chief, 
of  that  household  promised  to  be  an  important  event  in 
Mr.  Benthall’s  life. 

You  could  scarcely  have  found  a greater  difference 
between  any  two  men  than  between  James  Ashurst  and 
his  successor.  When  James  Ashurst  received  his  appoint- 
ment as  head-master  at  Helmingham,  he  looked  upon  that 
appointment  as  the  culmination  of  his  career.  Mr.  Ben- 
thall regarded  the  head-mastership  as  merely  a stepping- 
stone  to  something  better.  Mr.  Ashurst  threw  his  whole 
soul  into  his  work.  Mr.  Benthall  was  content  to  get 
people  to  think  that  he  was  very  hard-working  and  very 
much  interested  in  his  duties,  whereas  he  really  cared 
nothing  about  them,  and  slipped  through  them  in  the  most 
dilettante  fashion.  He  did  not  like  work ; he  never  had 
liked  it.  At  Oxford  he  had  taken  no  honours,  made  no 
name,  and  when  he  was  nominated  to  Helmingham,  every 
one  wondered  at  the  selection  except  those  who  happened 
to  know  that  the  fortunate  man  was  godson  to  one  of  the 
two  peers  who  were  life-governors  of  the  school.  Mr.  Ben- 
thall found  the  Helmingham  school  in  excellent  order. 
The  number  of  scholars  never  had  been  so  large,  the  social 
status  of  the  class  which  furnished  them  was  undeniably 
good,  the  discipline  had  been  brought  to  perfection,  and 
the  school  had  an  excellent  name  in  the  county.  It  had 
taken  James  Ashurst  years  to  effect  this,  but  once  achieved, 


270 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


there  was  no  necessity  for  any  further  striving.  Mr.  Ben- 
thall  was  a keen  man  of  the  world,  he  found  the  machine 
in  full  swing,  he  calculated  that  the  impetus  which  had 
"been  given  to  it  would  keep  it  in  full  swing  for  two  or 
three  years,  without  the  necessity  for  the  smallest  exertion 
on  his  part,  and  during  these  two  or  three  years  he  would 
occupy  himself  in  looking  out  for  something  better.  What 
that  something  better  was  to  be  he  had  not  definitely 
determined.  Not  another  head-mastership,  he  had  made 
up  his  mind  on  that  point ; he  never  had  been  particularly 
partial  to  boys,  and  now  he  hated  them.  He  did  not  like 
parochial  duty,  he  did  not  like  anything  that  gave 
him  any  trouble.  He  did  like  croquet-playing  and  par- 
sonical  flirtation,  cricket  and  horse  exercise.  He  liked 
money,  and  all  that  money  brings ; and,  after  every  con- 
sideration, he  thought  the  best  and  easiest  plan  to  acquire 
it  would  be  to  marry  an  heiress. 

But  there  were  no  heiresses  in  those  parts,  and  very 
few  marriageable  girls.  Mr.  Benthall  had  met  the  two 
young  ladies  from  Woolgreaves  at  several  garden-parties, 
and  had  conceived  a special  admiration  for  Gertrude  Cres- 
well.  Maude  was  far  too  grand,  and  romantic,  and  self- 
willed  for  his  taste,  but  there  was  something  in  Gertrude's 
fresh  face  and  quaint  simple  manner  that  was  particularly 
pleasing  to  him.  But  after  making  careful  inquiries,  Mr. 
Benthall  discovered  that  Miss  Gertrude  Ores  well’s  chance 
of  wealth  was  but  small,  she  being  entirely  dependent  on 
her  uncle,  whose  affections  were  known  to  be  entirely  con- 
centrated on  his  son.  She  might  have  a few  hundred 
pounds  perhaps,  but  a few  hundred  pounds  would  not  be 
sufficient  to  enable  Mr.  Benthall  to  give  up  the  school,  and 
to  live  idle  for  the  rest  of  his  life.  The  notion  must  be 
given  up,  he  feared.  He  was  very  sorry  for  it,  for  he 
really  liked  the  girl  very  much,  and  he  thought  she  liked 
him.  It  was  a bore,  a nuisance,  but  the  other  thing  was 
impossible ! 

Then  came  Tom  Creswell’s  death,  and  that  gave  affairs 
another  aspect.  There  was  no  son  now  to  inherit  all  the 


POOR  PAPA  S SUCCESSOR. 


271 


accumulated  wealth.  There  were  only  the  two  nieces, 
"between  whom  the  bulk  of  the  property  would  doubtless 
be  divided.  That  was  a much  more  healthy  outlook  for 
Mr.  Benthall.  If  matters  eventuated  as  he  imagined, 
Miss  Gertrude  would  not  merely  have  a sufficiency,  but 
would  be  an  heiress,  and  under  this  expectation  Mr. 
Benthall,  who  had  not  seen  much  of  the  young  ladies  of 
Wool  greaves  for  some  time,  now  took  every  opportunity 
of  throwing  himself  in  their  way.  These  opportunities 
were  tolerably  frequent,  and  Mr.  Benthall  availed  himself 
of  them  with  such  skill  and  success,  that  he  had  finally 
made  up  his  mind  to  propose  for  Gertrude  Creswell’s 
hand,  with  the  almost  certainty  of  acceptance,  when  the 
news  came  down  to  the  village  that  Mr.  Creswell  was 
going  to  be  married  to  Marian  Ashurst.  That  was  a 
tremendous  blow  ! From  what  Mr.  Benthall  had  heard 
about  Miss  Ashurst’s  character  in  the  village,  there  was 
little  doubt  in  his  mind  that  she  had  deliberately  planned 
this  marriage  with  a view  to  the  acquisition  of  fortune 
and  position,  and  there  was  no  doubt  that  she  would  hold 
to  both.  The  chance  of  any  inheritance  for  the  girls  was 
even  worse  than  it  would  have  been  if  Tom  had  lived. 
In  that  case  a sense  of  justice  would  have  impelled  the 
old  gentleman  to  do  something  for  his  nieces,  but  now  he 
would  be  entirely  under  the  sway  of  this  money-loving 
woman,  who  would  take  care  to  keep  everything  to  her- 
self. It  was  a confounded  nuisance,  for  in  regard  to 
Gertrude  Creswell  Mr.  Benthall  had  progressed  consider- 
ably beyond  the  “ liking  ” stage,  and  was  really  very 
much  attached  to  her.  What  could  be  done  ? It  would 
be  impossible  for  him  to  marry  a portionless  girl.  It 
would  be  utterly  useless  for  him  to  ask  her  uncle  to  endow 
her,  as  Mr.  Creswell  would  at  once  refer  the  question  to 
his  new  wife,  who — as  he,  Mr.  Benthall,  happened  to 
know  from  one  or  two  little  scenes  at  which  he  had  been 
present,  and  one  or  two  little  circumstances  of  which  ho 
had  heard — was  by  no  means  lovingly  inclined  towards 
the  young  ladies  who  had  become  her  step-nieces.  It  was 


272 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


horribly  provoking,  but  Mr.  Benthall  could  not  see  Lis 
way  at  all. 

One  evening,  some  two  or  three  da}Ts  after  Mr.  Cres- 
well’s  marriage,  Mr.  Benthall  was  sitting  in  his  study, 
when  there  came  a knock  at  the  door,  and  a smart  house- 
maid entering  told  him  that  Mrs.  Covey  had  come  back, 
and  would  be  glad  to  see  her  master.  Mrs.  Covey  was  an 
old  woman  who  for  many  years  had  lived  as  cook  with 
the  Ashursts,  and  who,  on  their  recommendation,  had 
been  accepted  in  a similar  capacity  by  Mr.  Benthall,  on 
his  assumption  of  office.  But  the  old  lady  had  been  away 
from  her  work  for  some  few  weeks  with  a sharp  attack  of 
illness,  which  rendered  her  unfit  for  her  duties,  and  she 
had  been  staying  with  a married  daughter  some  miles  on 
the  other  side  of  Brocksopp.  A few  days  previously  she 
had  reported  herself  as  cured,  and  as  about  to  return  to 
her  place,  and  in  due  time  she  arrived  at  the  school-house. 
Mr.  Benthall  was  glad  to  hear  of  the  old  woman’s  safe 
return ; not  that  he  cared  in  the  least  about  her,  or  any 
other  old  woman,  but  she  understood  the  place,  and  did 
her  duty  well,  and  some  of  the  boarders  had  given  decided 
evidence  of  the  unpopularity  of  Mrs.  Covey’s  locum  tenens 
by  leaving  their  dinners  untouched,  and  making  their 
meals  in  furtive  snatches  from  their  lockers  during  school- 
hours  of  provisions  purchased  at  the  “ tuck-shop.”  This 
sort  of  mutiny  annoyed  Mr.  Benthall  considerably,  and 
consequently  he  was  very  glad  to  have  the  news  of  Mrs. 
Covey’s  recovery,  and  gave  orders  that  she  should  be  sent 
up  to  him  at  once. 

Whatever  might  have  been  the  nature  of  Mrs.  Covey’s 
illness,  it  certainly  had  not  had  the  effect  of  toning  down 
her  complexion.  She  was  a singularly  red-faced  old  lady, 
looking  as  if  constant  exposure  to  large  fires  had  sent  the 
blood  to  her  cheeks  and  kept  it  there,  and  she  wore  a very 
fierce  little  black  front,  with  two  screwy  little  curls  just 
in  front  of  either  ear,  and  in  honour  of  her  return  and  of 
her  presentation  to  her  master,  she  had  put  on  a gigantic 
structure  of  net  and  ribbon  which  did  duty  for  a cap. 


POOR  PAPAS  SUCCESSOR. 


273 


Slie  seemed  greatly  pleased  at  the  notice  which  Mr. 
Benthall  took  of  her,  and  at  the  interest  he  seemed  to 
show  in  her  recovery,  hut  nothing  would  induce  her  to 
be  seated  in  his  presence,  though  he  repeatedly  urged  the 
advisability  of  her  resting  herself  after  her  journey. 
Finding  her  obdurate  in  this  matter,  Mr.  Benthall  let 
the  old  lady  have  her  way,  and  after  he  had  chatted  with 
her  about  her  illness,  and  about  her  family,  he  thought  he 
had  exhausted  the  topics  of  interest  between  them,  and 
inwardly  wished  she  would  go.  But  as  she  evinced  no 
intention  of  stirring,  he  was  obliged  to  cast  about  for 
something  to  say,  and  oddly  enough  hit  upon  a subject, 
the  discussion  of  which  with  this  old  woman  was  destined 
to  have  a certain  amount  of  influence  on  his  future 
life. 

“ Well,  we’ve  had  wonderful  changes  here  in  Hel- 
mingham  since  you’ve  been  away,  Mrs.  Covey,”  he  re- 
marked. 

“ Ah  ! so  I did  heer,  sirj  ” said  the  old  woman.  “ Poor 
old  Muster  Pickering  gone  to  his  feaythers,  and  Mrs. 
Slater’s  bad  leg  brokken  out  again,  and  not  likely  to  heal 
this  time,  Anne  told  me  Dr.  Osborne  says.” 

“Ay,  ay,  but  I’m  not  talking  about  old  Pickering  or 
Mis.  Slater.  I mean  the  wedding — the  great  wedding  ! ” 

“ Ah,  well,  I’ve  heerd  nowt  o’  that,”  said  Mrs.  Covey  ; 
adding  in  a grumbling  undertone,  “ I’m  a stupid  owd 
woman,  and  they  tell  me  nowt.” 

“ Not  heard  of  it?  Well,  I wonder  at  that,”  said  Mr. 
Benthall,  “ more  especially  as  it  concerns  your  young 
mistress  that  was — Miss  Ashurst,  I mean  ! ” 

“ What,  is  she  married  at  last  ? ” asked  the  old  woman. 

“ She  is  indeed,  and  to  Mr.  Creswell — Squire  Creswell 
of  Wool  greaves ” 

“ What ! ” screamed  Mrs.  Covey,  falling  backward  into 
the  chair,  which  was  fortunately  close  behind  her.  “ You 
don’t  tell  me  that ! ” 

“ I do  indeed  ! When  was  it  ? — last  Thursday.  The 
— the  happy  couple”  (and  Mr.  Benthall  gave  a cynical 

T 


274 


WRECKED  IK  PORT. 


grin  as  lie  said  the  words) — “ the  happy  couple  are  away 
now  on  their  wedding-trip.” 

“ Well,  I niver  did  ! I niver  did  ! The  old  squire  to 
come  and  marry  Miss  Marian  ! He  that  was  allays  so 
mumchance  and  so  meek,  and  had  a sweet  tooth  in ’s  head 
after  all ! I thowt  it  was  to  talk  wi’  the  poor  old  master 
about  book-larnin’  and  such  stuff  that  he  corned  here  ! 
I’d  niver  an  idee  that  he’d  an  eye  for  the  young 
gell” 

“ Only  shows  how  sly  these  old  gentlemen  can  be  when 
they  choose,  Mrs.  Covey,”  said  Mr.  Benthall,  much  amused, 
“ if  they  can  deceive  such  sharp  eyes  as  yours.” 

“ Dear  heart,  I’ve  no  cause  to  call  mine  sharp  eyes  any 
longer,  I think,”  said  the  old  woman,  shaking  her  head, 
“ for  I was  took  in  by  both  on  ’em.  I niver  thowt  Miss 
Marian  would  throw  t’other  one  over,  that  I niver  did.” 

^What’s  that  you’re  saying,  Mrs.  Covey?”  asked  Mr. 
Benthall,  sharply. 

“ I was  say  in’  that  I allays  thowt  Miss  Marian  would 
howld  by  the  t’other  one,  and ” 

“Other  one?  What  other  one?  I never  heard  of 
there  being  any  ‘ other  one,’  as  you  call  it,  in  regard  to 
Miss  Ashurst.” 

“ No  ! You  didn’t,  I dare  say ! Nor  didn’t  not  no  one 
else  ! ” said  the  old  lady,  with  a frightful  redundancy  of 
negatives ; “ but  I did.” 

“ And  who  was  this  4 other  one,’  if  one  may  ask,  Mrs. 
Covey  ? ” 

“ One  may  ask,  and  there’s  only  one  can  answer,  and 
that  one’s  me.  Ah,  well,  there’s  no  harm  in  tellin’,  now 
that  she’s  married,  and  all  that,  though  I niver  opened  my 
mouth  about  it  before  to  livin’  soul,  hopin’  it  would  come 
all  right  like.  Miss  Marian  were  keepin’  company  wi’ 
young  Joyce ! ” 

“Joyce!  Joyce!”  repeated  Mr.  Benthall.  “What, 
young  Mr.  Joyce,  who  was  one  of  Mr.  Ashurst’s  masters 
here  ? ” 

“ That  very  same ! ay,  and  he  were  Miss  Ashurst’s 


poor  papa’s  successor.  275 

master,  he  were,  at  the  time  I’m  speakin’  of ! ” said  the  old 
woman. 

“ Too  much  kitchen-fire  has  brought  on  softening  of 
this  old  person’s  brain ! ” said  Mr.  Benthall  to  himself. 
“ There  can’t  be  a shadow  of  foundation  for  what  she  says, 
or  I should  surely  have  heard  of  it  in  the  village  ! ” Then 
aloud,  “What  makes  you  think  this,  Mrs.  Covey?” 

“What  meks  me  think  it?  Why,  my  own  eyesight 
meks  me  think  it,  and  that’s  the  best  think  I can  have  i’ 
the  matter,”  replied  the  old  woman,  waxing  rather  cross  at 
her  master’s  evident  incredulity.  “ Nobody  niver  spoke  of 
it,  becos’  nobody  knowed  it ; but  I’ve  sat  at  the  kitchen- 
window  o’  summer  nights  and  seen  ’em  walkin’  roun’  the 
garden  for  hours  thegither,  hand  in  hand,  or  him  wi’  his 
arms  round  her  waist,  and  I know  what  that  means,  tho’ 
I may  be  an  old  fool ! ” 

“ No,  no,  Mrs.  Covey,  no  one  ever  thought  that  for  a 
minute,”  said  Mr.  Benthall,  anxious  to  soothe  the  old 
woman’s  offended  dignity,  and  really  very  much  interested 
in  the  news  she  had  given  him.  “ No  doubt  you’re  quite 
correct,  only,  as  I had  never  heard  a hint  of  this  before, 
I was  rather  startled  at  the  suddenness  of  the  announce- 
ment, Tell  me  now,  had  Mr.  Ashurst  any  inotion  of  what 
was  going  on  ? ” 

“ Wasn’t  the  schoolmaster,  poor  feckless  critter,  allays 
buzzed  in  th’  heed  wi’  book-larnin’  and  troubles  o’  all 
•sorts  ? No  bittle  as  iver  flew  war  blinder,  nor  deafer,  than 
my  poor  owd  master  in  matters  what  didn’t  concern  him !” 

“ Nor  Mrs.  Ashurst  ? ” 

“ Ah,  the  poor  sickly  thing,  wi’  pains  here  and  aches 
.there,  and  so  dillicate,  and  niver  ’nuflf  strength  to  look 
after  what  she  ought,  let  alone  anything  else  ! No  ! they 
kept  it  to  themselves,  the  young  pipple,  and  nobody 
knowed  nowt  about  it  but  me,  and  they  didn’t  know  as 
I knew,  for  the  kitchen-window,  as  you  know,  is  hid  wi’ 
fuzz  and  creepers,  and  you  can  see  out  wi’out  bein’  seen  ! 
Lor,  lor,  and  so  she’s  gone  and  married  that  owd  man  ! 
And  t’other  one’s  gone  for  a sojer,  they  say,  and  all  that 


276 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


story,  as  I used  to  sit  i’  the  kitchen  and  make  up  in  my 
head,  will  niver  be ! Lor,  lor,  what  a world  it  is  ! ” 

Mr.  Benthall  was  very  much  surprised  at  the  informa- 
tion which  had  come  to  him  in  that  odd  way.  He  had 
never  thought  much  about  Marian  Ashurst,  but  he  knew 
perfectly  well  that  popular  opinion  in  Helmingham  and 
the  neighbourhood  held  to  the  fact  that  she  had  never  had 
any  love  affair.  He  was  disj)osed  to  regard  her  with 
rather  more  favour  than  before,  for  if  what  Mrs.  Covey 
stated  of  her  were  true,  it  showed  that  at  one  time  she 
must  have  possessed  a heart,  though  she  had  allowed 
herself  to  ignore  its  promptings  under  the  overweening 
influence  of  avarice.  Mr.  Benthall  thought  a good  deal 
over  this  story.  He  wondered  when,  how,  and  under 
what  circumstances  Miss  Ashurst  had  broken  her  engage- 
ment, if  such  engagement  existed,  with  Joyce.  Whether 
she  had  deliberately  planned  her  marriage  with  old 
Creswell,  and  had  consequently  abandoned  the  other 
design  ; or  whether  the  old  gentleman  had  proposed 
suddenly  to  her,  and  the  temptation  of  riches  and  position 
being  too  great  for  her  to  withstand,  she  had  flung  her 
first  lover  aside  on  the  spur  of  the  moment,  and  thereby, 
perhaps,  rendered  herself  wretched  for  life.  Or  what  was 
it  that  the  old  woman  said,  about  Joyce  enlisting  as  a 
soldier?  Perhaps  that  step  on  her  lover’s  part  had  been 
the  cause  of  Miss  Ashurst’s  determination.  No  ! on 
reflection,  the  enlisting,  if  he  ever  did  enlist,  looked  like  a 
desperate  act  on  Joyce’s  part,  done  in  despair  at  hearing 
the  news  of  Marian’s  intended  marriage!  Mr.  Benthall 
did  not  pin  much  faith  to  the  enlisting  part  of  the  story. 
He  had  heard  a good  deal  about  Joyce  from  various 
sources,  and  he  felt  confident  that  he  was  by  no  means  the 
kind  of  man  who  would  be  led  to  the  perpetration  of  any 
folly  of  the  kind.  Mr.  Benthall  was  puzzled.  With  any 
other  two  people  he  could  have  understood  the  hand  in 
hand,  and  the  arm-encircled  waist,  as  meaning  nothing 
more  than  a pleasant  means  of  employing  the  time,  mean- 


POOR  papa’s  successor. 


277 


ing  nothing,  arid  to  be  forgotten  by  both  persons  when 
they  might  chance  to  be  separated.  But  Mr.  Joyce  and 
Miss  Ashurst  were  so  essentially  earnest  and  practical, 
and  so  utterly  unlikely  to  disport  themselves  in  the 
manner  described  without  there  had  been  a sincere  attach- 
ment between  them,  that,  taking  all  this  into  consideration 
in  conjunction  with  the  recent  marriage,  Mr.  Benthall 
came  to  the  conclusion  that  either  Mrs.  Covey  must  have, 
unintentionally  of  course,  deceived  herself  and  him,  or 
that  there  was  something  remarkably  peculiar  in  the 
conduct  of  Miss  Ashurst,  something  more  peculiar  than 
pleasant  or  estimable.  He  wondered  whether  Gertrude  or 
Maude  had  any  suspicions  on  the  matter.  They  had 
neither  of  them  ever  spoken  to  him  on  the  subject,  but 
then  Maude  generally  left  him  alone  with  Gertrude,  and 
when  he  and  Gertrude  were  together,  they  had  other 
things  than  other  people’s  love-affairs  to  talk  about.  He 
had  not  been  up  to  Woolgreaves  since  the  wedding,  had 
not — which  was  quite  a different  matter — seen  either  of 
the  girls.  He  would  ride  over  there  the  next  afternoon, 
and  see  how  matters  progressed. 

Accordingly  the  next  day,  while  Maude  and  Gertrude 
were  walking  in  the  garden  and  discussing  Mrs.  Creswell’s 
newly  arrived  letter,  or  rather  while  Maude  was  comment- 
ing on  it,  and  Gertrude,  as  usual,  was  chorusing  her  assent 
to  all  her  sister  said,  they  saw  Mr.  Benthall,  at  the  far 
end  of  a long  turf  walk,  making  towards  them.  Imme- 
diately on  recognising  the  visitor  Maude  stopped  talking, 
and  looked  suddenly  round  at  Gertrude,  who,  of  course, 
blushed  a very  lively  crimson,  and  said,  “ Oh,  Maud,  I wish 
you  wouldn’t ! ” 

“ Wish  I wouldn’t  what,  Gertrude  ? 99 

“ Make  me  so  hot  and  uncomfortable  ! ” 

“ My  dear,  I don’t  make  you  hot  and  uncomfortable  t 
We  have  been  talking  together  for  the  last  half-hour 
perfectly  quietly,  when  suddenly — why,  of  course,  it’s 
impossible  for  me  to  say — you  blush  to  the  roots  of  your 
hair,  and  accuse  me  of  being  the  cause ! ” 


278 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


44  No  ; but,  Maude,  you  don’t  mind  bis  coming  ? 55 
“ No  indeed,  Gertrude,  I like  him , if  you  mean  Mr, 
Bentball,  as  of  course  you  do,  very  much  ; and  if  you  and! 
be  are  both  really  in  earnest,  I think  that  you  would. 
Here  be  is  ! ” 

“ Good  day,  ladies ! ” said  Mr.  Bentball,  advancing 
with  a bow.  “ I haven’t  seen  you  since  you  were  left 
deserted  and  forlorn,  so  I thought  I would  come  over  and 
ask  what  news  of  the  happy  couple.” 

4 4 They  will  be  back  at  the  end  of  the  week ; we  heard 
from  Mrs.  Creswell  this  morning.” 

44  Ah,  ha,  from  the  blushing  bride ! And  how  is  the 
blushing  bride,  and  what  does  she  say  ? ” 

44  She  makes  herself  rather  more  odious  and  disagree- 
able than  ever  ! 55  said  Gertrude.  44  Oh,  I don’t  mind, 
Maude ! Geo — Mr.  Benthall  knows  precisely  what  I feel 
about  Miss  Ashurst  and  her  4 superior  ’ ways  and  manners 
and  nonsense ! ” 

44  What  has  she  done  now?  ” 

44  Oh,  she  has — no,  Maude,  I will  speak  ! She  has 
written  to  say  that  Maude  must  give*  up  her  music-room, 
you  know,  where  she  always  sits  and  practises,  and  where 
she’s  happier  than  anywhere  else  in  the  house,  because 
my  lady  wants  it  for  a boudoir,  or  something,  where  she 
can  show  off  her  4 superiority,5  I suppose.” 

44  Of  course,”  said  Maude, 44  Mrs.  Creswell  has  a perfect 
right  to ” 

44  Oh,  bother ! ” said  Gertrude  ; 44  of  course  it’s  perfectly 
disgusting  ! Don’t  you  think  so,  Mr.  Benthall  ? ” 

44  That’s  a home  question,”  said  Mr.  Benthall,  with  a 
laugh ; 44  but  it  is  scarcely  in  good  taste  of  Mrs.  Creswell 
so  soon  to ” 

44 1 should  think  not,  indeed ! ” interrupted  Gertrude. 
44  Oh,  I see  plainly  wbat  it  will  be.  We  shall  lead  nice 
lives  with  that  awful  woman ! 55 

44 1 don’t  think  you’ll  find,  as  I’ve  told  you  before,  that 
that  4 awful  woman,5  as  you  call  her,  will  trouble  herself 
with  our  companionship  for  long,”  said  Maude ; 44  and  I 


POOR  papa’s  successor. 


27£ 


cannot  say  that  when  she  once  comes  into  the  house 
as  mistress  I should  feel  the  least  desire  to  remain 
here.” 

“ And  she’ll  do  anything  with  poor  uncle,”  said  Ger- 
trude ; “he  dotes  on  her.” 

“ Naturally,”  said  Mr.  Benthall ; “ and  she  is  very 
much  attached  to  him  ? ” 

This  question  was  rather  addressed  to  Maude,  and  she 
answered  it  by  saying  quietly,  “ I suppose  so.” 

“ Oh,  nonsense,  Maude  ! ” said  Gertrude  ; “ uncle’s  an 
old  dear — kindest,  nicest  old  thing  in  the  world,  but  not 
for  a girl  to  like  in — well,  in  that  sort  of  way,  don’t  you 
know!  Not  the  sort  of  man  to  be  a girl’s  first  love,  I 
mean ! ” 

“ Are  you  sure  that  your  uncle  is  Miss  Ashurst’s  first 
love?” 

“We  never  heard  of  any  other.  What  is  it,  George— 
Mr.  Benthall,  I mean  ? You’ve  found  out  something ! 
Oh,  do  tell  us ! ” 

“ Did  you  know  anything  of  a Mr.  Joyce,  who  was  one 
of  Mr.  Ashurst’s  masters  ? ” 

“ Certainly — a small,  slim,  good-looking  young  man,” 
said  Maude. 

“ Good  looking,  eh  ? ” said  Mr.  Benthall. 

“ Should  not  you  say  so,  Gertrude  ? ” 

“ Well,  I don’t  know,”  said  Gertrude ; “ he  was  too 

short,  I think,  and  too  dark.  I like  a — I mean ” 

And  Gertrude  broke  down,  and  flew  the  flag  of  distress  in 
her  face  again. 

“ What  of  Mr.  Joyce,  in  connection  with  the  subject  on 
which  we  were  talking,  Mr.  Benthall  ? ” asked  Maude. 

And  then  Mr.  Benthall  told  them  all  he  had  heard 
from  Mrs.  Covey. 

Gertrude  went  alone  with  Mr.  Benthall  to  the  gate, 
and  they  were  a very  long  time  saying  their  adieux. 
When  she  came  back  to  the  house,  she  found  her  sister  in 
the  hall. 


280 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


“ You  found  the  gate  very  difficult  to  open,  Gerty  ! ” 
said  Maude,  with  her  grave  smile. 

“ Yes,  dear,  very  difficult ! Do  you  know,  dear, — he 
hasn’t  said  anything,  but  I think  Mr.  Benthall  is  going  to 
ask  me  to  be  his  wife  ! ” 

“ Well,  Gerty,  and  what  then  ? ” 

“ Then  I shall  have  a home  to  offer  you,  my  darling ! 
a home  where  we  can  be  together,  and  needn’t  be  under 
the  rule  of  that  beautiful,  superior  creature  ! ” 


CHAPTER  XXY. 

CLOUDING  OVER. 

Gertrude  Creswell  was  not  wrong  in  her  supposition  that 
Mr.  Benthall  intended  asking  her  to  become  his  wife.  It 
is  not  often  that  mistakes  are  made  in  such  matters, 
"despite  all  we  read  of  disappointed  maidens  and  blighted 
hopes.  Life  is  so  very  practical  in  this  portion  of  the 
nineteenth  century,  that,  except  in  very  rare  cases,  even 
love-affairs  scarcely  care  to  avail  themselves  of  a halo  of 
romance,  of  that  veil  of  mystery  and  secrecy  which  used 
to  be  half  the  charm  of  the  affair.  “ The  bashful  virgin’s 
sidelong  looks  of  love  ” are  now  never  seen,  in  anything 
like  good  society,  where  the  intention  of  two  young 
persons  to  marry  as  soon  as — sometimes  before — they 
have  met,  and  the  “ understanding  ” between  them  is 
fully  recognised  by  all  their  friends ; while  as  to  the 
“ matron’s  glance  which  would  such  looks  reprove,”  it  is 
entirely  obsolete,  and  never  brought  into  play,  save  when 
the  bashful  virgins  bend  their  sidelong  looks  of  love  on 
good-looking  young  paupers  in  the  government  offices  or 
the  army — a proceeding  which  it  is  but  fair  to  say  the 
bashful  virgins  “ of  the  period  ” very  rarely  indulge  in. 
Gertrude  Creswell  was  as  unlike  a “ girl  of  the  period,”  in 


CLOUDING  OVER. 


281 


the  present  delightful  acceptation  of  that  phrase,  as  can 
well  be  imagined ; that  is  to  say,  she  was  modest,  frank, 
simple,  honest,  and  without  guile;  but  she  was  a woman, 
and  she  knew  perfectly  that  she  had  engaged  George 
BenthalPs  attention,  and  become  the  object  of  his  affection, 
although  she  had  had  no  previous  experience  in  the 
matter.  They  had  lived  such  quiet  lives,  these  young 
ladies,  and  had  slid  so  tranquilly  from  the  frilled-trouser- 
wearing  and  Zes-#races-playing  period  of  childhood,  to  the 
long  skirts,  croquet,  and  flirtation  of  marriageable  age, 
that  they  had  hardly  thought  of  that  largest  component 
part  of  a girl’s  day-dream,  settling  in  life.  There  was 
with  them  no  trace  of  that  direct  and  unmistakable  line 
of  demarcation  known  as  “ coming  out  ” — that  mountain- 
ridge  between  the  cold  dreary  Switzerland  of  lessons, 
governesses,  midday  dinner,  back-board,  piano  practice, 
and  early  bed,  and  the  lovely  glowing  Italy  of  balls, 
bouquets,  cavaliers,  croquet,  Park,  Row,  crush-room, 
country-house,  French  novel,  and  cotillon  at  five  a.m. 
So  Gertrude  had  never  had  a love-affair  of  any  kind 
before ; but  she  was  very  quiet  about  it,  and  restrained 
her  natural  tendency  to  gush,  principally  for  Maude’s 
sake.  She  thought  it  might  seem  unkind  in  her  to  make 
a fuss,  as  she  described  it,  about  her  having  a lover  before 
Maude,  who  was  as  yet  unsuited  with  that  commodity. 
It  puzzled  Gertrude  immensely,  this  fact  of  her  having 
proved  attractive  to  any  one  while  Maude  was  by;  she 
was  accustomed  to  think  so  much  of  her  elder  sister,  on 
whom  she  had  endeavoured  to  model  herself  to  the  best  of 
her  ability,  that  she  could  not  understand  any  one  taking 
notice  of  her  while  her  sister  was  present.  Throughout 
her  life,  with  her  father,  with  her  mother,  and  now  with 
her  uncle,  Gertrude  Creswell  had  always  played  the 
inferior  part  to  her  sister;  she  was  always  the  humble 
confidante  in  white  muslin  to  Maude  in  Tilburina’s  white 
satin,  and  in  looks,  manner,  ability,  or  disposition,  was 
not  imagined  to  be  able  to  stand  any  comparison  with  the 
elder  girl. 


282 


WRECKED  IN  PORT, 


But  Mr.  Benthall,  preferring  Gertrude,  had  given  long^ 
and  serious  thought  as  to  his  future.  He  had  taken  the 
trouble  to  do  something  which  he  knew  he  ought  to  have 
done  long  since,  but  which  he  had  always  resolutely 
shirked — to  look  into  the  actual  condition  of  his  school,, 
and  more  especially  of  his  boarders ; and  after  careful 
examination,  he  confessed  to  himself,  as  he  smoked  a 
costly  cigar,  pacing  slowly  up  and  down  the  lane,  which 
was  ablaze  with  apple-blossom — it  would  never  have  done 
to  have  been  caught  in  the  wildly  dissipated  act  of 
smoking  by  any  of  the  boys,  or,  indeed,  by  a good  many  of 
the  villagers — he  confessed  to  himself  that  he  wanted 
a companion,  and  his  establishment  wanted  a head,  and 
that  Mrs.  Covey,  excellent  in  her  way,  was  scarcely  a 
proper  representative  of  the  female  element  in  the 
household  of  the  head-master  of  Helmingham  school. 
Thus  minded,  Mr.  Benthall  rode  over  to  Woolgreaves,  was 
received  by  a benevolent  grin  from  the  stable-helper,  to 
whom  he  confided  his  horse  (confound  those  fellows,  with 
what  an  extraordinary  facility  they  blunder  on  to  the  right 
scent  in  these  matters !),  went  into  the  house,  paid  his 
suit  to  the  two  young  ladies,  had  but  a few  words'  with 
Miss  Maude,  whose  services,  in  consequence  of  an  un- 
favourable turn  of  Mrs.  Ashurst’s  illness,  were  required 
upstairs,  and  a prolonged  interview  of  a very  satisfactory 
kind  with  Miss  Gertrude.  With  a portion  only  of  this 
interview  have  we  to  do ; the  remaining  portion  can 
be  much  “ more  easily  imagined  than  described,’5  at  least, 
by  those  to  whom  the  circumstances  of  the  position  have 
been,  or  actually  are,  familiar — perhaps  no  inconsiderable 
proportion  of  the  world. 

“By  the  way,55  said  Mr.  Benthall,  as,  after  a third 
ridiculous  attempt  at  pretending  he  was  going,  he  had 
again  settled  himself  in  his  chair,  but  had  not  thought  it 
necessary  to  give  up  Miss  Gertrude’s  hand,  which  he  had 
taken  in  his  own  when  he  had  last  risen  to  say  adieu — “ by 
the  way,  Miss — well,  Gertrude — what  was  that  you  were 
saying  last  time  I was  here  about  Mrs.  Cresswell  ? ” 


CLOUDING  OYER. 


283 


“What  I was  saying  about  Mrs.  Creswell?  I don’t 
exactly  know,  but  it  wouldn’t  be  very  difficult  to  guess  ! 
I hate  her ! ” said  Gertrude  roundly. 

“ Ah,  yes  ! ” said  Mr.  Benthall,  “ I think  I managed  to 
gather  that  from  the  general  tone  of  your  conversation ; 
but  what  were  you  saying  specifically  ? ” 

“ I don’t  know  what  specifically  means,  I think  ! ” said 
Gertrude,  after  a moment’s  reflection ; “ but  I do  know 
why  I hate  her ! ” 

“ And  that  is  because ” 

“ Because  she  pretends  to  be  so  awfully  superior,  and 
goes  in  to  be  so  horribly  good  and  demure,  and  all  that 
kind  of  thing,”  said  Miss  Gertrude,  growing  very  becom- 
ingly red  with  excitement.  “ She  always  reminds  me  of 
the  publican  in  the  parable,  who,  4 standing  afar  off’ — you 
know  what  I mean  ! I always  thought  that  the  publican 
went  in  to  draw  more  attention  to  himself  by  his  mock 
humility  than  all  the  noise  and  outcry  which  the  Pharisee 
made,  and  which  any  one  would  have  put  down  to  what  it 
was  worth;  and  that’s  just  like  Miss  A. — I mean  Mrs. 
Creswell — I’m  sure  I shall  call  her  Miss  A.  to  my  dying- 
day,  Maude  and  I are  so  accustomed  to  speak  of  her  like 
that — you’d  think  butter  wouldn’t  melt  in  hqr  mouth  ; and 
this  is  so  shocking,  and  that  is  so  dreadful,  and  she  is  so 
prim,  and  so  innocent,  and  so  self-sacrificing ; and  then 
she  steps  in  and  carries  off  our  uncle,  for  whom  all  the 
unmarried  girls  in  the  county  were  angling  years  ago,  and 
had  given  up  the  attempt  in  despair ! ” 

“ But  you  must  have  seen  all  this  in  her  for  months, 
ever  since  she  has  been  in  the  same  house  with  you.  And 
yet  it  is  only  since  she  achieved  her  conquest  of  your  uncle 
that  you’ve  been  so  bitter  against  her.” 

“ Not  at  all,  George.  That’s  so  like  a man,  always 
to  try  and  say  an  unpleasant  thing  about  the  want  of 
generosity,  and  all  that.  Not  at  all ! I don’t  mind  so 
much  about  her  marrying  uncle ; if  he’s  such  a silly  old 
thing  as  to  like  to  marry  her,  that’s  his  look-out,  and  not 
ours.  And  I’ve  no  doubt  she’ll  make  him  what  people  call 


284 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


a good  wife,  awfully  respectable,  and  all  that  kind  of 
thing.  And  I don’t  believe  she’s  ever  been  in  love  with 
anybody  else,  notwithstanding  your  stories  about  that 
Mr.  Joyce.  I like  your  talking  about  women’s  gossip,  sir ; 
a fine  story  that  was  you  brought  us,  and  all  started  by 
some  old  woman,  wasn’t  it  ? But  what  annoyed  me  worst 
was  the  way  in  which  she  wrote  about  making  Maude  give 
up  her  music-room.  I call  that  regularly  cruel,  because 
she  knew  well  enough  that  Maude  was  awfully  fond  of  that 
room,  and — and  that’s  what  makes  me  hate  her ! ” 

“ And  Maude  seemed  to  think  that  that  was  to  be  but 
the  beginning  of  a series  of  unpleasant  measures.” 

“Well,  you  know  Maude’s  blood  is  regularly  up  in  this 
matter,  and  of  course  she  is  prejudiced  to  a certain  extent, 
and  I don’t  know — I’m  not  clever,  you  know,  like  she  is — 
liow  far  she’s  right.  But  I think  plainly  enough  that  Miss 
A. — I mean  Mrs.  Creswell — intends  to  have  her  own  way 
in  everything ; and  as  she  doesn’t  like  us,  and  never 
did,  she’ll  set  much  against  us,  and  goodness  knows  the 
result ! ” 

Mr.  Benthall  could  not  have  been  described  as  “ good- 
ness,” nor  was  he  a particularly  far-seeing  man,  but  he 
thought  he  knew  the  result.  As  he  cantered  slowly  home 
that  afternoon,  he  thought  the  matter  out,  and  came  to  the 
conclusion  that  if  Mrs.  Creswell  were  the  woman  she  was 
described,  she  would  tolerate  but  for  a very  little  time  the 
presence  of  two  persons  so  obnoxious  in  the  same  house 
with  her,  and  that  when  that  climax  arrived,  it  was  the 
time  for  the  Rev.  George  Benthall  to  step  in  and  do 
himself  and  everybody  else  concerned  a good  turn  by  taking 
Gertrude  off  her  uncle’s  hands. 

There  was  very  little  doubt  that  the  shelter  of  the 
Woolgreaves  roof  and  the  luxuries  of  the  Woolgreaves 
establishment  would  be  required  by  one  of  its  inmates  for 
but  a very  short  time.  Mrs.  Ashurst’s  strength,  which  had 
been  gradually  declining,  began  to  fail  her  altogether,  and 
it  was  evident  to  all  that  the  end  was  at  hand.  Dr. 
Osborne,  who  was  in  constant  attendance — and  the  little 


CLOUDING  OYER. 


285- 


man  never  showed  to  such  advantage  as  under  the  most 
trying  professional  circumstances — shook  his  head  sadly, 
and  confessed  that  it  had  now  become  a question  of  days. 
But  the  old  lady  was  so  tranquil,  and  apparently  so 
happy,  that  he  hesitated  to  summon  her  daughter,  more 
especially  as  the  newly  married  couple  were  so  soon  ex- 
pected home.  The  girl  who  attended  on  the  old  lady  in 
the  capacity  of  night-nurse  had  a different  experience 
from  Dr.  Osborne  so  far  as  the  tranquillity  of  the  patient 
was  concerned.  She  knew  when  she  was  awake — and  con- 
sidering that  she  was  a full-blooded,  heavy,  bacon-fed  lass, 
she  really  deserved  much  credit  for  the  manner  in  which 
she  propped  her  eyelids  up  with  her  forefingers,  and 
resorted  to  sniffing  instead  of  snoring — she  knew  that 
Mrs.  Ashurst  had  very  disturbed  nights,  when  she  lay 
moaning  and  groaning  and  plucking  at  the  bedclothes, 
and  constantly  murmuring  one  phrase  : “ For  my  sake  ! 
Lord  help  her!  God  grant  it  may  turn  out  right!  She 
did  it,  I know,  for  my  sake ! 55  Gradually  she  lost  con- 
sciousness, and  in  her  wandering  state  she  repeated 
nothing  but  this  one  phrase,  “ For  my  sake ! ” Occa- 
sionally she  would  smile  placidly,  and  look  round  the 
room  as  though  in  admiration  of  its  comfort, and  appoint- 
ments, but  then  the  sad  look  would  come  over  her  face, 
and  she  would  repeat  the  melancholy  sentence  in  the 
saddest  of  tones.  Dr.  Osborne,  when  he  eventually  came 
to  hear  of  this,  and  to  witness  it,  confessed  he  could  not 
understand  it.  It  was  not  a case  for  the  College  of  Sur- 
geons, nor  geta table  by  the  Pharmacopoeia ; it  was  what 
Shakespeare  said — he’d  heard  his  girl  read  it — about  not 
being  able  to  minister  to  a mind  diseased,  or  something  of 
that  sort ; and  yet,  God  bless  him,  Mrs.  Ashurst  was  about 
the  last  woman  to  have  anything  of  the  kind.  However, 
he  should  be  deuced  glad  when  little  Marian — ah,  mustn’t 
call  her  little  Marian  now ; beg  pardon,  Mrs.  Creswell — 
funny,  wasn’t  it  ? couldn’t  get  that  into  his  head ! had 
known  ’em  all  so  long,  and  never  thought — nor  anybody 
else,  for  the  matter  of  th^t.  However,  that’s  neither  here 


286 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


nor  there.  What’s  that  proverb,  eh? — “There’s  no  fool 

like  an ” No,  no,  mustn’t  say  that  before  him,  please. 

What  was  he  saying  ? Oh,  he  should  be  glad  when  Mrs. 
Creswell  came  home,  and  took  her  mother  under  her  own 
charge. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Creswell  came  home  two  days  before  they 
were  expected,  or  rather  before  they  had  originally  in- 
tended. Marian  had  heard  of  her  mother’s  illness,  and 
expressed  a wish  to  go  to  her  at  once — a wish  which  of 
course  decided  Mr.  Creswell’s  course  of  action.  The 
tenants  and  villagers,  to  whom  the  news  of  Mr.  Creswell’s 
intended  political  experiment  had  been  imparted  during 
his  absence,  had  intended  to  give  him  a welcome  in  which 
they  could  express  their  sentiments  on  flags  and  mottoes 
and  triumphal  arches ; and  they  had  already  arranged  an 
alliterative  sentence,  in  which  “ Creswell  and  Conser- 
vatism ! ” each  picked  out  with  gigantic  capital  letters, 
were  to  play  conspicuous  parts ; but  Dr.  Osborne,  who  got 
wind  of  what  was  threatened,  drove  off  to  Brocksopp  in  his 
little  pony-chaise,  and  there  took  Mr.  Teesdale,  the  agent, 
into  confidence,  and  revealed  to  him  the  real  state — 
hovering  between  life  and  death — in  which  Mrs.  Ashurst 
then  lay.  On  the  reception  of  this  information,  Mr. 
Teesdale  took  upon  himself  to  hint  that  the  intended 
demonstration  had  better  be  postponed  for  a more  con- 
venient season ; and  accordingly  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Creswell, 
arriving  by  the  train  at  Brocksopp,  and  having  their  car- 
riage to  meet  them,  drove  through  the  streets  when  the 
working-people  were  all  engaged  at  their  factories  and 
mills,  and  made  their  way  home,  scarcely  exciting  any 
recognition. 

The  two  girls,  on  the  alert  at  hearing  the  wheels  of 
the  approaching  carriage,  rushed  to  the  door,  and  were 
honoured  by  being  permitted  to  kiss  the  cheek  of  the 
bride,  as  she  swept  past  them.  No  sooner  had  they  kissed 
their  uncle,  and  were  all  assembled  in  the  drawing-room, 
than  Marian  asked  after  her  mother. 

“ I’m  afraid  you  will  find  her  very  much  changed, 


CLOUDING  OVER. 


287 


Mrs.  Creswell,”  said  Maude,  who,  of  course,  was  spokes- 
woman. “ Mrs.  Ashurst  is  very  much  weaker,  and  has — 

has  occasional  fits  of  wandering,  which ” 

“Why  was  I not  informed  of  this?”  asked  Marian,  in 
her  chilliest  tones.  “ Were  you  both  so  much  engaged, 
that  you  could  not  manage  to  let  me  have  a line  to  tell  me 
of  this  change  in  my  mother’s  state  ? ” 

“ Maude  wanted  to  write  and  tell  you,  but  Dr.  Osborne 
wouldn’t  let  her,”  blustered  out  Gertrude.  “ She  never 
will  say  anything  for  herself,  but  I’m  sure  she  has  been 

most  attentive,  Maude  has,  and  I don’t  think ” 

“ I’m  sorry  to  interrupt  this  lobgesang , Gertrude ; but 
I must  go  up  and  see  my  mother  at  once.  Be  good  enough 
to  open  the  door.”  “ And  she  sailed  out  of  the  room,” 
Gertrude  said,  afterwards,  “ as  though  she’d  been  a 
duchess  ! In  one  of  those  rustling  silks,  don’t  you  know, 
as  stiff  as  a board,  which  look  as  if  they’d  stand  up  by 
themselves ! ” 

When  Marian  reached  her  mother’s  door,  and  was  just 
about  entering,  she  stopped  short,  arrested  by  a low  dull 
moaning  sound  which  fell  upon  her  ear.  She  listened 
with  her  blood  curdling  within  her  and  her  lips  growing 
cold  and  rigid.  Still  it  came,  that  low  hollow  moan, 
monotonous,  dreadful.  Then  she  opened  the  door,  and, 
passing  swiftly  in,  saw  her  mother  lying  tossing  on  the 
bed,  plucking  furtively  at  the  bedclothes,  and  moaning  as 
she  moved  her  head  wearily  in  its  unrest. 

“ Mother  ! ” cried  Marian — “ mother,  darling  mother  ! 
don’t  you  know  me  ? ” And  she  flung  herself  on  the  bed, 
and,  taking  the  old  woman’s  head  in  her  arms,  softly 
kissed  her  lips. 

The  bright,  the  momentarily  bright,  eyes  looked  at 
her  without  seeing  her — she  knew  that — and  presently 
moved  away  again  round  the  room,  as  Mrs.  Ashurst  raised 
her  long  lean  hand,  and,  pointing  to  the  wall,  said, 
“ Pictures — and  books — all  fine — all  fine  ! — for  my  sake ! ” 
uttering  the  last  words  in  a deep  hissing  whisper. 

Marian  was  too  shocked  to  speak.  Shocked,  not 


288 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


frightened ; she  had  much  natural  strength  of  mind,  and 
had  had  experience  of  illness,  though  not  of  this  character. 
But  she  was  shocked  to  see  her  mother  in  such  a state,  and 
deeply  enraged  at  the  fact  that  the  increase  of  the  illness 
had  been  kept  from  her.  “ Don’t  you  know  me  ? ” she 
repeated ; “ mother,  darling  mother,  don’t  you  know  me  ? 
Marian,  poor  Marian  ! your  daughter  Marian  ! ” 

“ Ah,  don’t  blame  her ! ” said  the  old  woman,  in  the 
same  whisper.  “ Poor  Marian  ! poor  dear  Marian  ! my 
Jimmy’s  pet ! She  did  it  for  my  sake,  all  for  my  sake  ! 
Carriages  and  horses  and  wine  for  me — wine,  rich  strong 
wine  for  me— all  for  me,  all  for  my  sake,  poor  Marian  ! all 
for  my  sake  ! ” 

“Is  she  often  in  this  way?  Does  she  often  repeat 
those  horrible  words  ? ” asked  Marian  of  the  servant,  of 
whose  presence  she  then,  on  raising  her  head,  became  for 
the  first  time  aware. 

“ Oh  yes,  miss — I mean,  mum  ! — constantly,  mum  ! 
She  never  says  anything  else,  mum,  but  about  some  things 
being  for  her  sake,  mum.  And  she  haven’t  said  anything 
else,  miss,  since  she  was  off  her  head — I mean,  since  she 
was  delirrous,  mum  ! ” 

“ Does  she  always  mention  my  name — Marian  ? ” 

“ Always,  mum,  ‘ Poor  Marian  ’ — savin’  your  presence, 
and  not  meanin’  a liberty — is  what  she  do  say,  miss,  and 
always  about 6 for  her  sake  ’ it’s  done,  whatever  it  is,  which 
I don’t  know.” 

“ How  long  has  she  been  like  this  ? How  long  have 
you  been  with  her  ? ” 

“A  week  last  Wednesday,  mum,  was  when  I was 
brought  from  the  laundry  to  be  nurse ; and  if  you  find 
your  collars  and  cuffs  iron-moulded,  mum,  or  not  properly 
got  up,  you’ll  understand  it’s  not  me,  Dr.  Osbin  having  had 
me  fetched  here  as  bein’  strong  for  nussin’  and  a good 
sitter-up  o’  nights ” 

“ Yes,  I understand  ! ” said  Marian,  vacantly ; “ you 
wron’t  have  to  sit  up  any  more  ; I shall  relieve  you  of  that. 
Just  wait  here ; I shall  be  back  in  a few  minutes.” 


CLOUDING  OYER. 


289 


Marian  hurried  downstairs,  and  in  the  drawing-room 
found  her  husband,  the  two  girls,  and  Dr.  Osborne,  who 
had  joined  the  party.  There  must  have  been  some  peculiar 
expression  in  her  face,  for  she  had  no  sooner  opened  the 
door  than  Mr.  Creswell,  looking  up,  hurried  across  the 
room  and  took  her  hand,  saying  anxiously,  “ What  is  the 
matter,  Marian  ? what  is  it,  my  love  ? ” 

“ Simply  that  I arrive  here  to  find  my  mother  wander- 
ing and  imbecile — she  whom  I left  comparatively  cheerful, 
and  certainly  in  the  possession  of  all  her  senses — that  is 
all,  nothing  more,”  said  Marian,  in  a hard  low  voice,  and 
with  a dead- white  face  and  dried  bloodless  lips.  “ I 
thought,”  she  continued,  turning  to  the  girls,  “ that  I 
might  have  left  her  safely  in  your  charge.  I never  asked 
for  your  sympathy,  God  knows ; I would  not  have  had  it 
if  you  had  offered  it  to  me  ; but  I thought  you  seemed  to 
be  disposed  kindly  and  affectionately  towards  her.  There 
was  so  much  gush  and  display  in  your  attachment,  I might 
have  known  it  had  no  real  foundation.” 

“You  have  no  right  to  speak  to  us  in  this  way, 
Mrs.  Creswell ! ” cried  Maude,  making  a step  in  advance 
and  standing  very  stiff  and  erect;  “you  have  no  right 
to ” 

“ Maude,”  broke  in  Mr.  Creswell,  in  his  coldest  tone, 
“recollect  to  whom  you  are  speaking,  if  you  please.” 

“I  do  recollect,  uncle;  I am  speaking  to  Mrs.  Ashurst’s 
daughter — dear  Mrs.  Ashurst,  whom  both  Gertrude  and  I 
love,  and  have  tried  to  show  we  love  her,  as  she  would  tell 
you,  if  she  could,  poor  darling  ! And  it  is  only  because 
Mrs.  Creswell  is  her  daughter  that  I answer  her  at  all, 
after  her  speaking  to  me  in  that  way.  I will  tell  you  now, 
Mrs.  Creswell,  what  I should  not  otherwise  have  mentioned, 
that  Gerty  and  I have  been  constant  in  our  attendance  on 
Mrs.  Ashurst,  and  that  one  or  other  of  us  has  always  slept 
in  the  next  room,  to  be  within  call  if  we  were  wanted, 

and ” 

“Why  did  you  take  upon  yourselves  to  keep  me  in 
ignorance  of  the  change  in  my  mother’s  mental  state,  of 

u 


290 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


this  fearful  wandering  and  unconsciousness  ?— that  is  what 
I complain  of.” 

“ Oh,  I must  not  let  them  say  they  took  it  upon  i hem- 
selves  at  all,”  said  Dr.  Osborne,  who  had  been  looking  on 
uncomfortably  during  this  dialogue ; “ that  was  my  fault 
entirely;  the  girls  wanted  to  send  for  you,  but  I said  no, 
much  better  not  I knew  you  were  due  home  in  a few 
days,  and  your  earlier  arrival  could  not  have  done  the  least 
good  to  my  poor  old  friend  upstairs,  and  would  only  have 
been  distressing  to  you.” 

“ Oh,  you  accept  the  responsibility,  Dr.  Osborne  ? ” 
said  Marian,  still  in  the  same  hard  voice.  “Would  you 
have  acted  in  the  same  way  with  any  ordinary  patient, 
any  stranger  ? ” 

“Eh?  ” exclaimed  the  little  doctor,  in  a very  loud  key, 
rubbing  bis  face  hard  with  his  pocket-handkerchief. 
“ What  do  you  ask,  Marian  ? — any  stranger  ? ” 

“ Would  you  have  taken  upon  yourself  to  keep  a 
daughter  from  her  mother  under  similar  circumstances, 
supposing  they  had  been  strangers  to  you?  ” 

“ No — no,  perhaps  not,”  said  the  little  doctor,  still 
wildly  astonished. 

“ It  will  be  perhaps  better,  then,  if  henceforth  you  put 
ns  on  the  footing  of  strangers  ! ” said  Marian. 

“ Marian  ! ” exclaimed  Mr.  Creswell. 

“ I mean  what  I said,”  she  replied.  “ Had  we  been  on 
that  footing  now,  I should  have  been  at  my  mother’s  bed- 
side some  days  since  ! ” And  she  walked  quickly  from  the 
room. 

Dr.  Osborne  made  two  steps  towards  his  hat,  seized  it, 
clapped  it  on  his  head,  and  with  remarkably  unsteady 
legs  was  making  his  way  to  the  door,  when  Mr.  Creswell 
took  him  by  the  arm,  begged  him  not  to  think  of  what  had 
just  passed,  but  to  remember  the  shock  which  Marian  had 
received,  the  suddenness  with  which  this  new  phase  of  her 
mother’s  illness  had  come  upon  her,  etc.  The  little  doctor 
did  not  leave  the  room,  as  apparently  he  had  intended  at 
first ; he  sat  down  on  a chair  close  by,  muttering — 


IN  HARNESS. 


291 


“ Treat  her  as  a stranger  ! rocked  her  on  my  knee ! 
brought  her  through  measles ! father  died  in  my  arms ! 
treat  her  as  a stranger ! ” 

Two  days  afterwards  Marian  stood  by  the  bed  on  which 
lay  Mrs.  Ashurst,  dead.  As  she  reverently  arranged  the 
gray  hair  under  the  close  cap,  and  kissed  the  cold  lips, 
she  said — 

“You  did  not  enjoy  the  money  very  long,  darling 
mother ! But  you  died  in  comfort,  at  any  rate ! and  that 
was  worth  the  sacrifice — if  sacrifice  it  w'ere ! ” 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

IN  HARNESS. 

It  was  the  autumn  of  the  year,  in  the  spring  of  which 
Walter  Joyce  had  returned  to  London  from  Westhope. 
Six  months  had  elapsed  since  he  had  read  what  he  had 
almost  imagined  to  be  his  death-warrant  in  Marian’s  reply 
to  his  letter  containing  the  Berlin  proposal.  It  was  not 
his  death-warrant ; he  had  survived  the  shock,  and, 
indeed,  had  borne  the  disappointment  in  a way  that  he  did 
not  think  possible  when  the  blow  first  fell  upon  him. 
Under  the  blessed,  soothing  influence  of  time,  under  the 
perhaps  more  effectual  influence  of  active  employment,  his 
mind  had  been  weaned  from  dwelling  on  that  dread  blank 
which,  as  he  at  first  imagined,  was  to  have  been  his  sole 
outlook  for  the  future.  Pie  was  young,  and  strong,  and 
impressionable ; he  returned  to  London  inclined  to  be 
misanthropical  and  morose,  disposed  to  believe  in  the  break- 
ing of  hearts  and  the  crushing  of  hopes,  and  the  rather 
pleasant  sensations  of  despair.  But  after  a very  short 
sojourn  in  the  metropolis,  he  was  compelled  to  avow  to 
himself  the  wisdom  of  Lady  Caroline  Mansergli’s  prognos- 


292 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


tications  concerning  him,  and  the  absolute  truth  of  every- 
thing she  had  said.  A life  of  moping,  of  indulgence  in 
preposterous  cynicism  and  self-compassion,  was  not  for 
him ; he  was  meant  for  far  better  things — action  in  the 
present,  distinction  *in  the  future — those  were  to  be  his 
aims,  and  after  a fortnight’s  indolence  and  moodiness,  he 
had  flung  himself  into  the  work  that  was  awaiting  him, 
and  begun  to  labour  at  it  with  all  his  energy  and  all  his 
brain-power. 

Some  little  time  afterwards,  when  Joyce  thought  over 
his  mental  condition  in  those  first  days  of  his  return  to 
London,  the  cheap  cynicism,  the  pettishness,  and  the 
languor  which  he  had  suffered  to  possess  him,  he  wondered 
why  old  Jack  Byrne,  with  whom  he  had  taken  up  his 
quarters,  had  not  rebuked  him  for  it,  and  one  day,  with 
some  considerable  confusion,  he  asked  the  old  man  the 
reason. 

“ Why  didn’t  I speak  to  you  about  it,  and  pitch  into 
you  for  it,  my  boy  ? ” said  the  old  man,  with  his  peculiar 
soft  laugh.  “ Because  it’s  best  to  let  some  things  have 
their  run,  and  come  to  a stop  of  their  own  accord.  I 
saw  plainly  enough  what  would  be  the  result  of  that 
love  business,  long  ago,  when  you  first  told  me  of  it. 
Why  didn’t  I say  so  then?  Why,  you  don’t  imagine 
I should  have  attempted  to  influence  you  in  such  a matter, 
when  I had  never  even  seen  the  lady,  and  had  only 
general  experience  to  take  as  my  guide  ? I did  give 
you  as  many  hints  as  I thought  prudent  or  decent  in 
a letter  which  I wrote  to  you,  my  lad;  but  you  didn’t 
seem  to  profit  by  them  much,  or,  indeed,  to  take  any  heed 
of  them.  You  went  sailing  away  straight  and  smoothly 
enough  until  that  squall  came  down  upon  you  and  carried 
away  your  masts  and  your  rigging,  and  left  you  a helpless 
log  tossing  on  the  waters.  It  was  so  nice  to  be  a helpless 
log,  wasn’t  it  ? — so  nice  that  you  thought  you  would  never 
be  anything  else.  But,  God  bless  you,  I knew  differently; 
I’d  seen  the  same  case  a hundred  times  before,  and  I knew 
if  you  were  left  alone  you  would  come  all  right  in  time. 


IN  HARNESS. 


293 


And  now  you  have  come  all  right,  and  you’re  doing  your 
work  well,  and  they  think  highly  of  you  at  the  Comet 
office.” 

“ I’m  glad  of  that;  that’s  the  best  news  you  could  give 
me.  Do  they  think  well  of  me  ? Do  they  think  I do  my 
work  well,  and ” 

“ Good  Lord,  what  a swallow  the  lad  has  for  flum- 
mery ! ” grumbled  old  Byrne.  “ He’d  like  me  to  repeat 
every  word  of  praise  to  him.  It’s  wonderful  to  see  how 
he  glows  under  it — no,  not  wonderful,  when  one  recollects 
how  young  he  is.  Ah,  youth,  youth ! Do  they  ? Yes,  of 
course  they  do ; you  know  that  well  enough.  It’s  deuced 
lucky  you  gave  up  that  notion  of  going  to  Berlin,  Walter, 
hoy.” 

“ Yes,”  said  Joyce,  with  a sigh,  as  he  remembered  all 
about  the  proposal ; “ I’m  better  here.” 

“ Better  here,  I should  think  you  were,  indeed  ! A 
correspondent  can’t  do  much  in  the  way  of  making  his 
mark.  He  can  be  serious  and  well  informed,  or  chatty 
and  nonsensical;  he  can  elect  between  describing  the 
councils  of  cabinets  or  the  circumference  of  crinolines  ; but 
in  either  case  his  scope  is  limited,  and  he  can  never  get 
much  fame  for  himself.  Now  in  your  present  position  as 
an  essayist  and  leader-writer  of  remarkable  ability — oh, 
you  needn’t  pretend  to  blush,  you  know  I shouldn’t  say 
what  I didn’t  think — there  is  possibly  a very  bright  future 
in  store  for  you ! And  to  think  that  years  ago  you  pos- 
sessed a distaste  for  politics  ! ” 

“ It  does  seem  ridiculous,”  said  Walter,  smiling.  “ I 
am  always  amused  when  I remember  my  very  wilful 
ignorance  on  such  matters.  However,  the  credit  of  the 
conversion,  if  credit  there  be,  is  entirely  owing  to  you  and 
O’Connor.” 

“Not  entirely,  I’m  thinking,”  said  the  old  man.  “ I 
recollect  your  telling  me  of  a conversation  you  had  with 
Lady  Caroline  Mansergh,  in  which  certain  hopes  were 
expressed  and  certain  suggestions  made,  which,  I should 
say,  had  their  effect  in  influencing  your  conduct.  Am  I 


294 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


right,  Walter?”  And  Mr.  Byrne  looked  hard  and  keenly 
from  under  his  bushy  eyebrows  at  his  young  friend. 

“ Perfectly  right ! ” said  Walter,  meeting  his  glance. 
“ I think  that  the  remembrance  of  Lady  Caroline’s  advice, 
and  the  knowledge  that  she  thought  I had  within  me  the 
power  of  distinguishing  myself,  were  the  first  inducements 
to  me  to  shake  off  that  horrible  lethargic  state  into  which 
I had  fallen  ! ” 

“ Well,  we  must  take  care  that  you  fulfil  all  her  lady- 
ship’s expectations,  Walter ! What  you  are  doing  now 
must  merely  be  a stepping-stone  to  something  much  better. 
I don’t  intend  to  die  until  I have  seen  you  a leader  in  the 
people’s  cause,  my  boy ! Oh  yes,  I allow  you’re  soundly 
with  them  now,  and  fight  their  battles  well  and  effectively 
with  the  pen ; but  I want  to  live  to  see  you  in  Parliament, 
to  hear  you  riddling  the  plutocrats  with  your  banter,  and 
overwhelming  the  aristocrats  with  your  scorn  ! ” 

“ My  dear  old  friend,  I fear  you  pitch  the  note  a little 
too  high,”  said  Joyce,  with  a laugh.  “I  don’t  think  you 
will  ever  see  me  among  the  senators.” 

“And  why  not?”  asked  old  Byrne,  in  a very  excited 
manner — “ and  why  not,  pray  ? Is  there  any  one  speaks 
better  at  the  Club  ? Is  there  any  one  more  popular  among 
the  leaders  of  the  cause,  or  with  them  ? If  those  miserable 
Tories  had  not  swallowed  the  leek  fifty  times  in  succes- 
sion, as  they  have  just  done,  and  thereby  succeeded  in 
clinging  to  office  for  yet  a few  months,  the  chiefs  of  the 
party,  or  at  least  of  one  section  of  it — the  ‘ ultras,’  as  they 
are  good  enough  to  call  us — would  have  relied  greatly  on 
your  advice  and  assistance,  and  when  the  election  comes, 
as  come  it  must  within  a very  short  time,  you  will  see  how 
you  will  be  in  requisition.  And  about  your  position, 
Walter?  I think  we  should  look  to  that  at  once.  I think 
you  should  lose  no  time  in  entering  yourself  at  some  Inn 
of  Court,  and  commence  reading  for  the  bar ! ” 

“Don’t  ask  me  to  make  any  change  in  my  life  at 
present,  old  friend  ! ” said  Walter.  “ No  ! ” as  he  saw  the 
old  man  with  an  impatient  gesture  about  to  speak — “ no, 


IN  HARNESS. 


295 


I was  not  going  to  plead  the  want  of  the  money ; for,  in 
the  first  place,  I know  you  would  lend  it  to  me,  and  in  the 
second  I am  myself  making,  as  you  know,  an  excellent 
income.  But  I don’t  want  to  undertake  anything  more 
just  now  than  what  I am  actualty  engaged  in.  I am  quite 
sufficiently  occupied — and  I am  very  happy.” 

Old  Byrne  was  compelled  to  be  satisfied  with  this 
declaration,  but  he  grumbled  out  that  it  should  only  be 
temporary,  and  that  he  intended  to  see  Walter  in  a very 
different  position  before  he  died. 

Walter  Joyce  said  nothing  more  than  the  truth  when 
he  said  that  he  was  very  happy.  He  had  fallen  into 
exactly  the  kind  of  life  which  suited  him,  the  pursuance  of 
a congenial  occupation  amongst  companions  of  similar 
tastes.  There  are,  I take  it,  but  few  of  us  professional 
plyers  of  the  pen  who  do  not  look  back  with  regret  and 
with  something  akin  to  wonder  to  that  halcyon  time  when 
we  first  entered  upon  authorship ; when  the  mere  act  of 
writing  was  in  itself  pleasant,  when  the  sight  of  a proof- 
sheet  was  calculated  to  fill  one  with  infinite  delight,  when 
one  glowed  with  delight  at  praise,  or  writhed  in  agony 
under  attack.  In  after  life,  when  the  novelty  has  entirely 
worn  off,  when  the  Pegasus  which  ambled,  and  kicked, 
and  pranced,  has  settled  down  into  the  serviceable  hack  of 
ordinary  use,  often  obliged,  like  other  hacks,  to  go  through 
his  work  and  to  put  forth  his  paces  at  inopportune  times 
and  seasons,  it  seems  impossible  to  believe  that  this  fresh- 
ness of  feeling,  this  extraordinary  enthusiasm,  can  ever 
have  existed  ; unless,  perchance,  you  see  the  reflex  of  your- 
self in  some  one  else  who  is  beginning  to  pursue  the  sunny 
verdant  end  of  that  path  which  with  you  at  present  has 
worn  down  into  a very  commonplace  beaten  track,  and 
then  you  perceive  that  the  illusion  was  not  specially  your 
own,  but  is  common  to  all  who  are  in  that  happy  glorious 
season  of  youth. 

Walter  Joyce  was  thoroughly  happy.  Ho  had  pleasant 
rooms  in  Staples  Inn — a quiet,  quaint,  old-world  place, 
where  the  houses  with  their  overhanging  eaves  and  gabled 


296 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


roofs  and  mullioned  windows  recall  memories  of  Conti- 
nental cities  and  college  “ quads,”  and  yet  are  only  just 
shut  off  from  the  never-ceasing  bustle  and  riot  of  Holborn. 
The  furniture  of  these  rooms  was  not  very  new,  and  there 
was  not  very  much  of  it ; but  the  sitting-room  boasted  not 
merely  of  two  big  easy-chairs,  but  of  several  rows  of  book- 
shelves, which  had  been  well  filled,  by  Jack  Byrne’s  gene- 
rosity, with  books  which  the  old  man  had  himself  selected ; 
and  in  the  bedroom  there  was  a bed  and  a bath,  which,  in 
J oyce’s  opinion,  satisfied  all  reasonable  expectations.  Here, 
in  the  morning,  he  read  or  wrote ; for  he  was  extending  his 
connection  with  literature,  and  found  a ready  market  for 
his  writings  in  several  of  the  more  thoughtful  periodicals 
of  the  day.  In  the  afternoon  he  would  go  down  to  the 
Comet  office,  and  take  part  in  the  daily  conference  of  the 
principal  members  of  the  staff.  There  present  would  be 
Mr.  Warren,  the  proprietor  of  the  paper,  who  did  not 
understand  much  about  journalism,  as,  indeed,  could 
scarcely  be  expected  of  him,  seeing  that  the  whole  of  his 
previous  life  had  been  taken  up  in  attending  to  the  export 
provision  trade,  in  which  he  had  made  his  fortune,  but  who 
was  a capital  man  of  business,  looked  after  the  financial 
affairs  of  the  concern,  and  limited  his  interference  with 
the  conduct  of  the  paper  in  listening  to  what  others  had  to 
say.  There  would  be  Mr.  Saltwell,  who  devoted  himself 
to  foreign  politics,  who  was  a wonderful  linguist,  and 
a skilful  theological  controversialist,  and  who,  in  his 
tight  drab  trousers,  cut-away  coat,  and  bird’s-eye  cravat, 
looked  like  a racing  trainer  or  a tout;  Mr.  Gowan, 
a Scotchman,  a veteran  journalist  of  enormous  experience, 
who,  as  he  used  to  say,  had  had  scores  of  papers  “ killed 
under  him ; ” Mr.  Forrest,  a slashing  writer,  but  always 
in  extremes,  and  who  was  always  put  on  to  any  subject 
which  it  was  required  should  be  highly  lauded  or  shame- 
fully abused — it  did  not  matter  much  to  Mr.  Forrest,  who 
was  a man  of  the  world ; and  Mr.  Ledingham,  a man  of 
great  learning  but  very  ponderous  in  style  and  recondite 
in  subject,  whose  articles  were  described  by  Mr.  Shimmer 


IN  HARNESS. 


297 


as  being  “ like  roast  pig,  very  nice  occasionally,  but  not  to 
be  indulged  in  often  with  impunity,”  were  also  usual 
attendants  at  the  conference,  which  was  presided  over  by 
the  recognised  editor  of  the  Comet , Terence  O’Connor. 

Mr.  O’Connor  was  the  type  of  a class  of  journalists 
which  yet  exists,  indeed,  but  is  not  nearly  so  numerous  as 
it  was  a few'  years  ago.  Your  newspaper  editor  of  to-day 
dines  with  the  duke  and  looks  in  at  the  countess’s  recep- 
tion ; his  owrn  reporter  includes  him  amongst  the  distin- 
guished company  which  he,  the  reporter,  “observes”  at 
select  reunions ; he  rides  in  the  Park,  and  drives  down  to 
his  office  from  the  House  of  Commons,  where  he  has  been 
the  centre  of  an  admiring  circle  of  members,  in  his 
brougham.  Shades  of  the  great  men  of  bygone  days — 
of  White  and  Berry,  of  Kew  and  Captain  Shandon — think 
of  that ! Terence  O’Connor  was  of  the  old  school.  He 
had  made  journalism  his  profession  since  he  left  Trinity, 
and  had  only  won  his  position  by  hard  labour  and  untiring 
perseverance,  had  written  in  and  edited  various  provincial 
newspapers,  had  served  his  time  as  sub  and  hack  on  the 
London  press,  and  had  eventually  risen  to  the  editorial 
chair  which  he  filled  so  admirably.  A man  of  vast  learn- 
ing, with  the  simplicity  of  a child,  of  keen  common  senso 
tempered  with  great  amicability,  an  admirable  writer,  an 
ardent  politician,  wielding  great  power  with  never-failing 
impartiality,  Terence  O’Connor  passed  his  life  in  a world 
in  which  he  was  exceptionally  influential,  and  to  which 
he  was  comparatively  unknown.  His  neighbours  at  Clap- 
ham  had  no  idea  that  the  slim  gray-haired  gentleman 
whom  they  saw  pottering  about  in  his  garden  on  summer 
afternoons,  or  lying  on  the  grass  under  the  shade  of  a big 
tree  playing  with  his  children,  was  the  lightning-com 
peller  and  the  thunder-creator  of  the  Comet.  Though 
most  earnest  while  engaged  in  his  work,  it  was  his  greatest 
delight  to  leave  every  trace  of  it  behind  him  at  his  office, 
and  to  be  entirely  free  from  its  influence  when  at  homo 
with  his  wife  and  children.  Occasionally,  of  course,  the 
few  old  friends  who  dined  with  him  would  start  a political 


298 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


or  literary  discussion,  in  which  he  would  bear  his  part; 
but  he  was  never  happy  until  the  conversation  found  its 
way  back  into  the  ordinary  social  channels,  or  until  a 
demand  was  made  for  music,  of  which  he  was  passionately 
fond.  It  was  a lucky  thing  for  Walter  Joyce  to  make  the 
acquaintance  and  to  win  the  regard  of  such  a man  as 
Terence  O’Connor,  who  had  a wonderfully  quick  eye  for 
character,  and  who,  having  noticed  Walter’s  readiness  of 
appreciation  and  bright  incisive  style  in  the  few  articles 
which  he  wrote  on  the  occasion  of  his  first  introduction  by 
Mr.  Byrne,  suggested  that  the  post  at  Berlin  should  be 
offered  to  him.  The  more  they  were  thrown  together  the 
better  they  liked  each  other.  Walter  had  the  greatest 
admiration  for  O’Connor’s  talent  and  power  of  work  ; 
while  the  elder  man  looked  kindly  on  his  young  friend’s 
eagerness  and  enthusiasm,  his  desire  for  distinction,  and 
his  delight  at  laudation,  perhaps  as  somewhat  reflecting 
his  own  feelings  before  he  had  become  settled  down  to 
the  mill-horse  grind — ah,  how  many  years  ago  ! 

After  the  conference  had  broken  up,  Joyce,  to  whom, 
perhaps,  a subject  had  been  given  to  treat,  would  goN  back 
to  his  chambers  and  work  at  it  for  two  or  three  hours,  or 
he  would  remain  at  the  office  discussing  the  matter  in 
detail  with  Terence  O’Connor,  and  taking  his  friend’s 
advice  as  to  the  manner  of  treatment.  Or,  if  he  were 
free,  he  would  lounge  in  the  Park,  and  stare  at  the  equip- 
ages, and  the  toilettes,  and  the  London  panorama  of 
luxury  there  constantly  going  by,  all  new  to  the  country- 
bred  young  man,  to  whom,  until  he  went  to  Lord  Hether- 
ington’s,  the  old  rumbling  chariot  of  Sir  Thomas 
Churchill,  with  its  worsted-epauletted  coachman  and 
footman,  was  a miracle  of  comfort  and  a triumph  of  taste. 
Or  he  would  ramble  out  with  Shimmer,  or  Forrest,  or 
some  other  of  his  colleagues,  to  the  suburbs,  over  the 
breezy  heights  of  Hampstead,  or  through  the  green 
Willesden  lanes,  and  get  the  city  dust  and  smoke  blown 
out  of  them.  When  he  was  not  on  duty  at  the  office  at 
night,  Walter  would  sometimes  take  the  newspaper  admis- 


IN  HARNESS. 


299 


sion  and  visit  the  theatre ; but  he  had  little  taste  for  the 
drama,  or  rather,  perhaps,  for  such  dramatic  representa- 
tions as  were  then  in  vogue,  and  it  pleased  him  much 
more  to  attend  the  meetings  of  the  Forum,  a club  con- 
stituted for  the  purpose  of  discussing  the  principal 
political  and  social  questions  of  the  day,  and  composed 
of  young  barristers  and  newspaper  writers,  with  a sprin- 
kling of  public-office  men,  who  met  in  the  large  room  of  a 
tavern  situated  in  one  of  the  quiet  streets  leading  from 
Fleet  Street  to  the  river.  The  leaders  of  the  different 
political  parties,  and  others  whose  deeds  or  works  had 
given  them  celebrity  or  notoriety,  were  happy  in  their 
ignorance  of  the  existence  of  the  Forum,  or  they  must 
have  been  rendered  uncomfortable  by  finding  themselves 
the  objects  of  so  much  wild  denunciation.  The  members 
of  the  Forum  were  not  in  the  habit  of  concealing  their 
opinions,  or  of  moderating  the  language  in  which  those 
opinions  were  expressed ; and  the  debate  in  which  the 
then  holders  of  office  were  not  denounced  as  effete  and 
useless  nincompoops,  bound  by  degrading  ties  of  sub- 
serviency to  a policy  which,  while  originally  dangerous, 
was  now  degrading,  or  in  which  the  leaders  of  the  Oppo- 
sition were  not  stigmatised  as  base-bred  .ruffians,  linked 
together  by  the  common  bond  of  ignorance  with  the 
common  hope  of  rapine — was  considered  dull  and  spirit- 
less indeed.  As  Mr.  Byrne  had  intimated,  Walter  Joyce 
was  one  of  the  most  prominent  members  of  this  debating 
club ; he  had  a clear  resonant  voice,  capable  of  excellent 
modulation,  and  spoke  with  fluency.  His  speeches,  which 
were  tinged  with  a far  more  pronounced  radicalism — the 
effect  of  the  teaching  of  Jack  Byrne — than  had  previously 
been  promulgated  at  the  meetings  of  the  Forum,  soon 
became  widely  talked  of  among  the  members  and  their 
friends,  and  Walter’s  rising  was  eagerly  looked  forward 
to,  and  warmly  hailed,  not  merely  for  the  novelty  of  his 
doctrine,  but  for  the  boldness  and  the  humour  with  which 
he  sought  to  inculcate  it.  His  success  was  so  great  that 
the  heads  of  the  Tory  party  in  the  club  became  alarmed, 


300 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


and  thought  it  necessary  to  send  off  for  Alister  Portcullis, 
who  was  formerly  the  great  speaker  on  their  side,  but 
who  had  recently  become  editor  of  a provincial  paper,  to 
return  to  town,  and  oppose  Joyce  on  one  or  two  special 
subjects  of  discussion.  Portcullis  came  up  to  London, 
and  the  encounter  took  place  before  a room  crowded  to 
the  ceiling  (it  was  rumoured — and  believed  by  some — 
that  the  Premier  and  the  leader  of  the  Opposition  were 
present,  with  wigs  drawn  over  their  eyes  and  comforters 
over  their  noses),  and  re-echoing  to  the  cheers  of  the 
partisans.  Walter  was  understood  to  have  held  his  own, 
and,  indeed,  to  have  had  the  best  of  it ; but  Portcullis 
made  a very  good  speech,  covering  his  opponent  with 
sarcasm  and  invective,  and  declaiming  against  the  cause 
which  he  represented  with  a whirlwind  of  fury  which 
greatly  incensed  old  Jack  Byrne,  who  happened  to  be 
sitting  immediately  beneath  him. 

Political  feeling  ran  very  high  just  at  that  time,  and 
the  result  of  the  forthcoming  election  was  looked  forward 
to  with  the  greatest  confidence  by  the  Eadicals.  The  or- 
ganisation of  the  party  was  very  complete.  A central  com- 
mittee, of  which  Mr.  Byrne  and  Terence  O’Connor  were 
members,  had  its  sittings  in  London,  and  was  in  daily 
communication  with  the  various  local  committees  of  the 
principal  provincial  towns,  and  most  of  the  intending 
candidates  had  been  despatched  to  make  a tour  of  the 
neighbourhood  which  they  proposed  to  represent,  with  the 
view  of  ascertaining  the  feelings  of  the  electors,  and 
ingratiating  themselves  with  them. 

Among  these  touring  candidates  was  young  Mr.  Boken- 
ham,  who  aspired  to  represent  the  constituency  of  Brock- 
sopp.  Young  Bokenham  had  been  selected  by  the  central 
committee  principally  because  his  father  was  a very 
influential  manufacturer,  and  because  he  himself,  though 
not  specially  clever  or  deeply  versed  in  politics,  was 
recommended  as  fluent,  of  good  appearance,  and  eminently 
docile  and  leadable.  The  reports  which  during  and  after 
his  visit  came  up  from  the  local  to  the  central  committee 


IN  HARNESS. 


301 


by  no  means  bore  out  the  recommendation.  The  fact  was 
that  young  Mr.  Bokenham,  who  had  at  a very  early  age 
been  sent  to  Eton,  who  had  been  a gentleman  commoner 
of  Christchurch,  and  who  had  always  had  his  own  way 
and  the  command  of  large  sums  of  money  to  enable  him  to 
do  as  he  pleased,  had  become,  as  is  very  often  the  case 
under  the  influence  of  such  surroundings,  a perfect  type  of 
the  parvenu  and  the  plutocrat,  and  had,  if  anything, 
rather  an  antipathy  for  that  cause  of  which  he  was  about 
to  offer  himself  as  one  of  the  representatives.  To  an- 
nounce this  would,  however,  he  was  aware,  be  simply  to 
renounce  the  very  large  fortune  which  wrould  accrue  to 
him  at  his  father’s  death,  and  which  the  old  man,  who 
had  been  a staunch  Badical  from  his  earliest  days,  and 
who  gloried  in  being  a self-made  man,  would  certainly 
have  dispersed  through  a thousand  charitable  channels 
rather  than  allow  one  penny  of  it  to  be  touched  by  his 
politically  renegade  son.  Moreover,  young  Bokenham 
pined  for  the  distinction  of  parliament  membership,  which 
he  knew,  for  the  present  at  least,  was  only  to  be  obtained 
by  holding  to  his  father’s  political  principles ; and  so  he 
professed  to  be  in  earnest  in  the  matter,  and  went  down  to 
Brocksopp  and  called  on  the  principal  people  of  the  place, 
and  convened  a few  meetings  and  delivered  a few  speeches. 
But  the  Brocksopp  folk  were  very  badly  impressed.  They 
utterly  failed  to  recognise  young  Tommy  Bokenham,  as 
they  had  always  spoken  of  him  among  themselves  during 
all  the  years  of  his  absence,  in  the  bearded,  natty-booted, 
delicately  gloved  gentleman,  who  minced  his  words  and 
used  a perfumed  handkerchief,  and  talked  about  the  chali- 
fah  of  our  lib-ah-ties.  His  manner  was  unpleasant  and 
offensive,  and  his  matter  was  not  half  sufficiently  peppered 
to  suit  the  tastes  of  the  Brocksopp  Radicals,  who  could 
not  be  too  frequently  reminded  that  they  were  the  salt  of 
the  earth,  and  that  the  horny  hand  of  labour  was  what 
their  intending  representative  was  always  wishing  to 
clasp.  Young  Mr.  Bokenham,  no  longer  Tommy  after  he 
had  once  been  seen,  objected  to  the  horny  hand  of  labour, 


302 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


disliked  the  smell  of  factories,  and  the  manner  and 
appearance  of  the  working-classes  altogether.  He  could 
not  drink  much  at  the  public-houses,  and  the  smell  of  the 
strong  shag  tobacco  made  him  ill,  and  in  fact  his  first  tour 
for  canvassing  was  a woful  and  egregious  failure,  and  was 
so  reported  to  the  central  committee  in  London  by  their 
Brocksopp  agents. 

On  this  report  the  committee  met,  and  had  a long  and 
earnest  consultation.  Brocksopp  was  an  important  place, 
and  one  which  it  was  most  desirable  to  secure.  No  other 
candidate  possessing  such  wealth  or  such  local  influence  as 
young  Bokenham  could  be  found,  and  it  was  therefore 
imperative  that  he  should  be  carried  through.  It /was, 
however,  necessary  that  his  mistakes  should  be  pointed 
out  to  him,  and  he  should  be  thoroughly  well  schooled  and 
advised  as  to  his  future  proceedings.  He  was  accordingly 
invited  to  attend  the  next  meeting  of  the  committee, 
which  he  did,  and  received  a three-hours’  drilling  with 
great  composure.  He  promised  to  adopt  all  the  sugges- 
tions which  were  made,  and  to  carry  out  all  the  plans 
which  were  proposed.  Walter  Joyce,  who  happened  to  be 
present,  was  much  amused  at  Mr.  Bokenham’s  great  amia- 
bility and  power  of  acquiescence,  and  was  about  saying 
so  to  Mr.  Byrne,  who  was  seated  next  him,  when  he  was 
startled  by  hearing  the  candidate  say,  in  answer  to  a 
question  from  one  of  the  committee  as  to  whether  any  one 
was  in  the  field  on  the  Tory  side — 

“ Oh  yes ; an  old  gentleman  named  Creswell,  a re- 
tired manufacturer  of  great  wealth  and  position  in  those 
parts.” 

“ Is  he  likely  to  make  a strong  fight  ? ” 

“ Well,  ya-as  ! ” drawled  young  Bokenham.  “ Old 
boy’s  not  supposed  to  care  particularly  about  it  himself, 
don’t  you  know ; but  he’s  lately  married  a young  wife — 
doosid  pretty  woman,  and  all  that  kind  of  thing — and 
they  say  she’s  set  her  heart  on  becoming  the  mem- 
beress.” 

“ Do  you  hear  that  ? ” whispered  Byrne  to  Joyce. 


RIDING  AT  ANCHOR. 


303 


“ I do,”  replied  Walter.  “ This  man  is  a fool ; but  he 
must  be  got  in,  and  Mr.  Creswell  must  be  kept  out,  at  all 
hazards.” 

And  Jack  Byrne  grinned. 


CHAPTER  XXVIL 

RIDING  AT  ANCHOR. 

'The  intention,  one  of  the  first  which  Marian  Creswell  had 
expressed  after  her  marriage,  and  one  which  had  so  in- 
censed Gertrude,  of  converting  the  girls’fc  music-room  into 
a boudoir,  had  long  since  been  carried  out.  Almost 
immediately  after  he  had  returned  from  his  wedding  trip, 
Mr.  Creswell  had  sent  to  London  for  decorators  and  up- 
holsterers. An  army  of  foreign  artists,  much  given  to 
beard  and  pantomimical  gesture,  to  humming  scraps  of 
operas  over  their  work,  and  to  furtively  smoking  cigarettes 
in  the  shrubberies  whenever  they  could  evade  the  stern 
eye  of  the  overseer,  had  arrived  upon  the  scene;  and 
when  they  returned  to  town  they  left  the  music-room, 
which  had  been  a bleak,  gaunt,  cheerless  apartment 
enough,  a miracle  of  brightness  and  cosiness,  elegance  and 
comfort.  Everybody  was  astonished  at  the  change,  and 
the  young  ladies  themselves  were  compelled  to  confess 
that  the  boudoir,  as  it  then  appeared,  was  perfectly 
charming,  and  that  really,  perhaps,  after  all,  Mrs.  Creswel 
might  have  been  actuated,  apart  from  mere  malevolence 
and  spite,  by  some  sense  and  appreciation  of  the  capa- 
bilities of  the  room  in  the  selection  she  had  made.  There 
was  a good  deal  of  actual  truth  in  this  judgment ; Marian 
had  determined  to  take  the  earliest  opportunity  of  assert- 
ing herself  against  the  girls  and  letting  them  know  the 
superiority  of  her  position ; she  had  also  intended,  if  ever 
she  were  able,  to  gratify  the  wish  to  have  a room  of  her 


304 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


own,  where  she  might  be  absolute  mistress,  surrounded  by 
her  hooks,  pictures,  and  other  belongings;  and  by  the 
acquisition  of  the  music-room  she  was  able  to  accomplish 
both  these  intentions.  Moreover,  the  windows  of  the 
music-room  looked  out  towards  Helmingham.  Half-way 
towards  the  dim  distance  stood  the  old  school-house,  where 
she  had  been  born,  where  all  her  childhood  had  been  spent, 
and  where  she  had  been  comparatively  innocent  and 
unworldly ; for  though  the  worship  of  wealth  had  pro- 
bably been  innate  in  her,  and  had  grown  with  her  growth 
and  strengthened  with  her  strength,  she  had  not  then 
sacrificed  others  to  her  own  avarice,  nor  forfeited  her 
self-respect  for  the  gratification  of  her  overwhelming 
passion.  In  a person  differently  constituted,  the  constant 
contemplation  of  such  views  might  have  had  an  irritating 
or  a depressing  effect,  but  Marian’s  strength  of  mind 
rendered  her  independent  of  any  such  feeling.  She  never 
thought  with  regret  of  the  step  she  had  taken ; she  never 
had  the  remotest  twinge  of  conscience  as  to  the  manner  in 
which  she  had  behaved  to  Walter  Joyce;  she  was  fre- 
quently in  the  habit  of  passing  all  the  circumstances  in 
review  in  her  mind,  and  invariably  came  to  the  conclusion 
that  she  had  acted  wisely,  and  that,  were  she  placed  in 
a similar  position  again,  she  should  do  exactly  the  same. 
No;  she  was  able  to  think  over  all  the  passages  of  her 
first  and  only  love — that  love  which  she  had  deliberately 
cast  from  the  pedestal  of  her  heart,  and  trampled  under 
foot — without  an  extra  pulsation  of  excitement  or  regret. 
She  would  pass  hour  after  hour  in  gazing  from  her  window 
on  distant  places  where,  far  removed  from  the  chance  of 
intrusion  by  the  prying  villagers — who,  however,  were 
profoundly  ignorant  of  what  was  going  on — she  would 
have  stolen  interviews  with  her  lover,  listening  to  his 
fond  words,  and  experiencing  a kind  of  pleasure  such  as 
she  had  hitherto  thought  nothing  but  the  acquisition  of 
money  could  create.  Very  tranquilly  she  thought  of  the 
bygone  time,  and  looked  across  the  landscape  at  the  well- 
known  places.  She  had  slipped  so  easily  into  her  present 


Aiding  at  anchor. 


80S 


position,  and  settled  herself  so  firmly  there,  that  she  could 
scarcely  believe  there  had  been  a time  when  she  had  been 
poor  and  dependent,  when  she  had  been  unable  to  exercise 
her  every  whim  and  fancy,  and  when  she  had  been  without 
an  elderly  gray-haired  gentleman  in  constant  attendance 
upon  her,  and  eager  to  anticipate  her  very  slightest  wish. 

One  afternoon,  about  eight  months  after  her  mother’s 
death,  Marian  was  sitting  at  the  window  of  her  boudoir, 
gazing  vacantly  at  the  landscape  before  her.  She  did  not 
see  the  trees,  erst  so  glorious  in  their  russet  garments,  now 
half-stripped  and  shivering  in  the  bitter  autumnal  wind 
that  came  booming  over  the  distant  hills,  and  moaned 
wearily  over  the  plain ; she  did  not  see  the  little  stream 
that  lately  flashed  so  merrily  in  the  summer  sunlight,  but 
had  now  become  a brown  and  swollen  foaming  torrent, 
roaring  where  it  had  softly  sung,  and  bursting  over  its 
broad  banks  instead  of  coyly  slipping  through  its  pebbly 
shallows;  she  did  not  see  the  birds  now  skimming  over 
the  surface  of  the  ground,  now  rising,  but  with  no  lofty 
flight,  the  harbingers  of  coming  storm ; she  did  not  see 
the  dun  clouds  banking  up  to  windward;  nor  did  she  note 
any  of  the  outward  characteristics  of  the  scene.  She  was 
dull  and  bored,  and  it  was  a relief  when  she  heard  the 
handle  of  the  door  turned,  and,  looking  round,  saw  her 
husband  in  the  room. 

There  was  nothing  of  palpable  uxoriousness — that  most 
unpleasant  of  displayed  qualities,  especially  in  elderly 
people — in  the  manner  in  which  Mr.  Creswell  advanced 
and,  bending  over  his  wife,  took  her  face  in  his  hands  and 
kissed  her  cheek ; nor  in  the  way  in  which  he  sat  down 
beside  her  and  passed  his  hands  over  her  shining  hair ; nor 
in  the  words  of  tenderness  with  which  he  addressed  her. 
All  was  relieved  by  a touch  of  dignity,  by  an  evidence  of 
earnest  sincerity,  and  the  veriest  cynic  and  scoffer  at  the 
domesticity  and  what  Charles  Lamb  called  the  “ behaviour 
of  married  people,”  would  have  found  nothing  to  ridicule 
in  the  undisguised  love  and  admiration  of  the  old  man  for 
his  young  wife,  so  quietly  were  they  exhibited. 


x 


SO  6 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


“ What  made  yon  fly  away  in  that  hurry  from  the 
library  just  now,  darling  ? ” said  he.  44  You  just  peeped 
in,  and  were  off  again,  never  heeding  my  calling  to  you 
to  remain.” 

“ I had  no  notion  you  were  engaged,  or  that  anybody 
was  here  ! ” said  Marian. 

“ I am  never  engaged  when  you  want  me,  and  there  is 
never  anybody  here  whose  business  is  of  equal  import- 
ance with  your  pleasure.” 

“ When  did  you  cultivate  the  art  of  saying  pretty 
things  ? ” asked  Marian,  smiling.  4 4 Is  it  a recent  acquisi- 
tion, or  one  of  old  standing,  which  had  only  rusted  from 
disuse  ? ” 

44 1 never  had  occasion  to  try  whether  I possessed  the 
power  until  you  came  to  me,”  said  Mr.  Creswell,  with  an 
old-fashioned  bow.  44  There,  oddly  enough,  I was  talking 
about  speaking  in  public,  and  the  trick  of  pleasing  people 
by  public  speaking,  to  those  two  men  when  you  looked 
into  the  room.” 

44  Indeed.  Who  were  your  visitors  ? ” 

44 1 thought  you  would  have  recognised  old  Croke,  of 
Brocksopp ; he  seemed  a little  hurt  at  your  running  away 
without  speaking  to  him ; but  I put  him  right.  The  other 
gentleman  has  corresponded  with  you,  but  never  seen  you 
before — Mr.  Gould,  of  London.  You  wrote  to  him  just 
after  poor  Tom’s  death,  you  recollect,  about  that  sale.” 

44 1 recollect  perfectly,”  said  Marian.  (She  remembered 
in  an  instant  Joyce’s  allusion  to  the  man  in  his  first 
memorable  letter.)  “ But  what  brought  him  here  at  this 
time  ? There  is  no  question  of  the  sale  now  ? ” 

44  No,  dearest ; but  Mr.  Gould  has  a very  large  practice 
as  a parliamentary  agent  and  lawyer,  and  he  has  come 
down  here  about  the  election.” 

44  The  election?  I thought  that  was  all  put  off!  ” 

“Put  off?”  repeated  Mr.  Creswell.  44 Indefinitely ? * 
For  ever  ? ” 

44  I’m  sure  you  told  me  so.” 

44  Now,  that  is  so  like  a woman  ! The  idea  of  an 


RIDING  AT  ANCHOR. 


307 


election  being  quietly  put  aside  in  that  way  ! No,  child, 
no;  it  was  postponed  merely;  it  is  expected  to  come  off 
very  shortly.” 

“ And  what  have  these  two  men  to  do  with  it?  ” 

“ These  two  men,  as  you  call  them,  have  a great  deal 
to  do  with  it.  Mr.  Croke  is  a leading  man  amongst  the 
Conservative  party — that  is  my  party,  you  understand, 
child — in  Brocksopp,  and  Mr.  Gould  is  to  be  my  London 
agent,  having  Mr.  Teesdale,  whom  you  know,  as  his  lieu- 
tenant, on  the  spot.” 

“ You  speak  of  * my  party,’  and  ‘ my  agent,’  as  though 
you  had  fully  made  up  your  mind  to  go  in  for  the  election. 
Is  it  so?” 

“ I had  promised  to  do  so,”  said  Mr.  Creswell,  again 
with  the  old-fashioned  bow,  “before  you  did  me  the 
honour  to  accept  the  position  which  you  so  worthily  fill; 
and  I fear,  even  had  you  objected,  that  I should  scarcely 
have  been  able  to  retract.  But  when  I 'mentioned  it  to 
you,  you  said  nothing  to  lead  me  to  believe  that  you  did 
object.” 

“Nor  do  I in  the  very  smallest  degree.  On  the 
contrary,  I think  it  most  advisable  and  mos£  important. 
What  are  your  chances  of  success  ? ” 

“ Well,  on  the  whole,  good  ; though  it  struck  me  that 
our  friends  who  have  just  gone  were  a little  too  sanguine, 
and — at  least,  so  far  as  Mr.  Croke  was  concerned — a 
little  too  much  disposed  to  underrate  the  strength  of  the 
enemy.” 

“ The  enemy  ? Ah ! — I forgot.  Who  is  our  opponent  ?” 
Mr.  CreswTell  heard  the  change  in  the  pronoun,  and  was 
delighted. 

“ A certain  young  Mr.  Bokenham,  son  of  an  old  friend 
and  contemporary  of  mine,  who  was  launched  in  life  about 
the  same  time  that  I was,  and  seemed  to  progress  step  by 
step  with  me.  I am  the  younger  man  by  some  years,  I 
believe  ; but,”  continued  the  old  gentleman,  with  an  odd, 
half-sheepish  look,  “ it  seems  curious  to  find  myself 
running  a tilt  with  Tommy  Bokenham,  who  was  not  born 
when  I was  a grown  man  ! ” 


308 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


“ The  position  is  one  with  which  age  has  ver;y  little  to 
do”  said  Marian,  with  a slight  hardening  of  her  voice. 
“ No,  if  anything,  I should  imagine  that  a man  of  ex- 
perience and  knowledge  of  the  world  had  a better  chance 
than  a young  and  necessarily  unformed  man,  such  as  Mr. 
Bokenham.  You  say  that  your  friends  seemed  con- 
fident ? ” 

“ A little  too  confident.  Old  Croke  is  a Tory  to  the 
backbone,  and  will  not  believe  in  the  possibility  of  a 
Liberal  being  returned  for  the  borough ; and  Mr.  Gould 
seems  to  depend  very  much  on  the  local  reports  which  he 
has  had  from  men  of  the  Croke  stamp,  and  which  are  all  of 
the  most  roseate  hue.” 

“ Over-certainty  is  the  almost  infallible  precursor  of 
failure.  And  we  must  not  fail  in  this  matter.  Don’t  you 
think  you  yourself  had  better  look  into  it  more  closely 
than  you  have  done  ? ” 

“ My  darling  one,  you  give  me  an  interest  in  the 
matter  which  previously  it  never  possessed  to  me  ! I will 
turn  my  attention  to  it  at  once,  go  into  the  details  as  a 
matter  of  business,  and  take  care  that,  if  winning  is 
possible,  we  shall  win.  No  trouble  or  expense  shall  be 
spared  about  it,  child,  you  may  depend  ; though  what  has 
given  you  this  sudden  start  I cannot  imagine.  I should 
have  thought  that  the  ambition  of  being  a member’s  wife 
was  one  which  had  never  entered  your  head.” 

“ My  head  is  always  ready  to  serve  as  a receptacle  for 
schemes  for  my  husband’s  advancement,  whether  they  be 
of  my  own,  or  his,  or  other  people’s  prompting,”  said 
Marian,  demurely.  And  the  old  gentleman  bent  over  her 
again,  and  kissed  her  on  the  forehead. 

What  was  this  sudden  interest  in  these  election  pro- 
ceedings on  Marian’s  part,  and  whence  did  it  arise  ? Was 
it  mere  verbiage,  pleasant  talk  to  flatter  her  husband, 
showing  feigned  excitement  about  his  prospects  to  hide 
the  real  carelessness  and  insouciance  which  she  could  not 
choose  but  feel?  Was  she  tired  of  his  perpetual  presence 
in  waiting  upon  her,  and  did  she  long  to  be  rid  of  her 


RIDING  AT  ANCHOR. 


309 


patient  slave,  untiring  both  in  eye  and  ear  in  attention 
to  her  wants,  almost  before  they  were  expressed  ? There 
are  many  women  who  weary  very  speedily  of  suit  and 
service  perpetually  paid  them,  who  sicken  of  compliments 
and  attentions,  as  the  pastry-cooks’  boys  are  said  to  do, 
after  the  unrestricted  gratification  of  their  tart-appetites, 
in  the  early  days  of  their  apprenticeship.  Did  she  talk  at 
random  with  the  mere  idea  of  making  things  pleasant  to 
her  husband,  and  with  the  knowledge  that  the  mere  fact 
of  any  expression  of  interest  on  her  part  in  any  action  of 
his  would  be  more  than  appreciated?  Not  one  whit. 
Marian  never  talked  at  random,  and  knew  her  power 
sufficiently  to  be  aware  that  there  was  no  need  for  the 
expression  of  any  forced  feeling  where  Mr.  Ores  well  was 
concerned.  The  fact  was — and  it  was  not  the  first  time 
she  had  acknowledged  it  to  herself,  though  she  had  never 
before  seen  her  way  clearly  to  effect  any  alteration — the 
fact  was  that  she  was  bored  out  of  her  life.  The  golden 
apples  of  the  Hesperides,  gained  after  so  much  trouble,  so 
much  lulling  of  the  dragon  of  conscience,  had  a smack  of 
the  Dead  Sea  fruit  in  them,  after  all ! The  money  had 
been  obtained,  and  the  position  had  been  compassed,  it  was 
true ; but  what  were  they?  What  good  had  she  gathered 
from  the  money,  beyond  the  fact  of  the  mere  material  com- 
forts of  house,  and  dress,  and  equipage?  What  was  the 
position,  but  that  of  wife  of  the  leading  man  in  the  very 
narrow  circle  in  which  she  had  always  lived?  She  was 
the  centre  of  the  circle,  truly  ; but  the  circle  itself  had  not 
enlarged.  The  elegant  carriage,  and  the  champing  horses, 
and  the  obsequious  servants,  were  gratifying  in  their  way; 
but  there  was  but  little  satisfaction  in  thinking  that  the 
sight  of  her  enjoyment  of  them  was  confined  to  Jack 
Forman,  sunning  himself  at  the  ale-house  door,  and 
vacantly  doffing  his  cap  as  homage  to  her  as  she  swept  by, 
or  to  the  villagers  amongst  whom  she  had  been  reared,  who 
ran  to  their  doors  as  they  heard  the  rumbling  of  the  wheels, 
and  returned  to  their  back  parlours,  envying  her  her  state, 
it  is  true,  but  congratulating  themselves  with  the  recol- 


310 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


lection  of  tlie  ultimate  fate  of  Dives  in  the  parable,  and 
assuring  each  other  that  the  difference  of  sex  would  have 
no  material  effect  on  the  great  result.  Dull,  cruelly  dull, 
that  was  all  she  could  make  of  it,  look  at  it  how  she  would. 
To  people  of  their  social  status  society  in  that  neighbour- 
hood was  infinitely  more  limited  than  to  those  in  lower 
grades.  An  occasional  visit  from,  and  an  occasional  dinner 
with,  Sir  Thomas  and  Lady  Churchill  at  the  Park,  or  some 
of  the  richer  and  more  influential  Brocksopp  commercial 
magnates,  comprised  all  their  attempts  at  society.  The 
rector  of  Helmingham  was  a studious  man,  who  cared  little 
for  heavy  dinner-parties,  and  a proud  man,  who  would 
accept  no  hospitality  which  he  could  not  return  in  an  equal 
way;  and  as  for  Dr.  Osborne,  he  had  been  remarkably 
sparing  of  his  visits  to  Woolgreaves  since  his  passage-of- 
arms  with  Mrs.  Creswell.  When  he  did  call  he  invariably 
addressed  himself  to  Mr.  Creswell,  and  did  not  in  the  least 
attempt  to  conceal  that  his  feelings  had  been  wounded  by 
Marian  in  a manner  which  no  lapse  of  time  could  heal. 

No!  the  fact  was  there:  the  money  had  been  gained, 
but  what  it  had  brought  was  utterly  insufficient  to -Marian’s 
requirements.  The  evil  passion  of  ambition,  which  had 
always  been  dormant  in  her,  overpowered  by  the  evil 
passion  of  avarice,  began,  now  that  the  cravings  of  its 
sister  vice  were  appeased,  to  clamour  aloud  and  make 
itself  heard.  What  good  to  a savage  is  the  possession  of 
the  gem  of  purest  ray  serene,  when  by  his  comrades  a bit 
of  glass  or  tinsel  would  be  equally  prized  and  appreciated? 
What  good  was  the  possession  of  wealth  among  the  in- 
habitants of  Helmingham  and  Brocksopp,  by  whom  the 
Churchills  of  the  Park  were  held  in  far  greater  honour,  as 
being — a statement  which,  though  religiously  believed, 
was  utterly  devoid  of  foundation — of  the  “raal  owd 
stock  ” ? The  notion  of  her  husband’s  election  to  Parlia- 
ment gave  Marian  new  hopes  and  new  ideas.  Uncon- 
sciously throughout  her  life  she  had  lived  upon  excite- 
ment, and  she  required  it  still.  In  what  she  had  imagined 
were  merely  humdrum  days  in  the  bygone  times  she  had 


BIDING  AT  ANCHOR. 


311 


had  her  excitement  of  plotting  and  scheming  how  to  make 
both  ends  meet,  and  of  dreaming  of  the  possible  riches ; 
then  she  had  her  love  affair,  and  there  had  flashed  into  her 
mind  the  great  idea  of  her  life,  the  intention  of  establishing 
herself  as  mistress  of  Woolgreaves.  All  these  things  were 
now  played  out;  the  riches  had  come,  the  old  love  was 
buried  beneath  them,  the  position  was  attained.  But  the 
necessity  for  excitement  remained,  and  there  was  a chance 
for  gratifying  it.  Marian  was  pining  for  society.  What 
was  the  use  of  her  being  clever,  as  she  had  always  been 
considered,  if  the  candle  of  her  talent  were  always  to  be 
hidden  under  the  Brocksopp  bushel  ? She  longed  to  mix 
with  clever  people,  amongst  whom  she  would  be  able  to 
hold  her  own  by  her  natural  gifts,  and  more  than  her  own 
by  her  wealth.  To  be  known  in  the  London  world,  with 
the  entry  into  it  which  her  husband’s  position  would  secure 
to  her,  and  then  to  distinguish  herself  there,  that  was  the 
new  excitement  which  Marian  Creswell  craved,  and  day 
by  day  she  recurred  to  the  subject  of  the  election,  and  dis- 
cussed its  details  with  her  husband,  delighting  him  with 
the  interest  which  she  showed  in  the  scheme,  and  by  the 
shrewd  practical  common  sense  which  she  brought  to  bear 
upon  it. 

Meanwhile  the  relations  existing  between  Mrs.  Cres- 
well and  her  recently  acquired  connections,  Maude  and 
Gertrude,  had  not  been  placed  on  any  more  satisfactory 
footing.  They  lived  together  under  an  armed  truce  rather 
than  a state  of  peace,  seeing  as  little  of  each  other  as 
possible,  Marian  ignoring  the  girls  in  every  possible  way, 
except  when  they  were  perforce  brought  under  her  notice, 
and  the  girls  studiously  acting  without  reference  to  any 
supposed  wushes  or  ideas  of  Mrs.  Creswell’s.  Mr.  Creswell 
followed  his  wife’s  lead  exactly ; he  was  so  entirely 
wrapped  up  in  her  and  her  doings  that  he  had  no  eye  nor 
ear  for  any  one  else,  and  he  would  probably  havo  been 
very  much  astonished  if  he  had  been  told  that  a complete 
estrangement  had  taken  place  between  him  and  the  other 
members  of  his  family,  and  would  positively  have  denied 


312 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


it.  Such,  however,  was  the  case.  The  girls,  beyond  see- 
ing their  uncle  at  meals,  were  left  entirely  to  their  own 
devices ; and  it  was,  under  the  circumstances,  fortunate 
for  their  future  that  their  past  training  had  been  such  as 
it  had  been.  Gertrude,  indeed,  was  perfectly  happy;  for 
although  Mr.  Benthall  had  not  actually  proposed  to  her, 
there  was  a tacit  understanding  of  engagement  between 
them.  He  occasionally  visited  at  Woolgreaves,  and  during 
the  summer  they  had  met  frequently  at  various  garden- 
parties  in  the  neighbourhood ; and  Maude  was  as  quiet 
and  earnest  and  self-contained  as  ever,  busied  in  her  work, 
delighting  in  her  music,  and,  oddly  enough,  having  one 
thing  in  common  with  Mrs.  Creswell — an  interest  in  the 
forthcoming  election,  of  which  she  had  heard  from  Mr. 
Benthall,  who  was  a violent  politician  of  the  Liberal  school. 

One  day  the  girls  were  sitting  in  the  room  which  had 
been  assigned  to  them  on  the  establishment  of  the  boudoir, 
and  which  was  a huge,  lofty,  and  by  no  means  uncom- 
fortable room,  rendered  additionally  bright  and  cheerful 
by  Gertrude’s  tasty  handiwork  and  clever  arrangement. 
It  was  one  of  those  close  warm  days  which  come  upon  us 
suddenly  sometimes,  when  the  autumn  has  been  deepening 
into  winter,  and  the  reign  of  fires  has  commenced.  The 
sun  had  been  shining  with  much  of  his  old  summer  power, 
and  the  girls  had  been  enjoying  his  warmth,  and  had  let 
the  fire  out,  and  left  the  door  open,  and  had  just  suspended 
their  occupations — Maude  had  been  copying  music,  and 
Gertrude  letter-writing — owing  to  the  want  of  light,  and 
were  chatting  previous  to  the  summons  of  the  dressing 
bell. 

“Where  is  madam  this  afternoon,  Maude?”  asked 
Gertrude,  after  a little  silence. 

“ Shut  up  in  the  library  with  uncle  and  Mr.  Gould — 
that  man  who  comes  from  London  about  the  election.  I 
heard  uncle  send  for  her.” 

“ Lor’,  now,  how  odd  ! ” said  unsophisticated  Gertrude  ; 
“ she  seems  all  of  a sudden  to  have  taken  great  interest  in 
this  election  thing.” 


RIDING  AT  ANCHOR. 


313 


“ Naturally  enough,  Gerty,”  said  Maude.  “Mrs.  Cres- 
well  is  one  of  the  most  ambitious  women  in  the  world, 
and  this  ‘ election  thing,’  as  you  call  it,  is  to  do  her  more 
good,  and  gain  her  higher  position,  than  she  ever  dreamed 
of  until  she  heard  of  it.” 

“ What  a curious  girl  you  are,  Maude  ! How  you  do 
think  of  things  ! What  makes  you  think  that  ? ” 

“ Think  it — I’m  sure  of  it.  I’ve  noticed  the  difference 
in  her  manner,  and  the  way  in  which  she  has  thrown 
herself  into  this  question  more  than  any  other  since  her 
marriage,  and  brought  all  her  brains— and  she  has  plenty 
— to  uncle’s  help.  Poor  dear  uncle  ! ” 

“ Ah,  poor  dear  uncle ! Do  you  think  madam  really 
cares  for  him  ? ” 

“ Cares  for  him  ? Yes,  as  a stepping-stone  for  herself, 
as  a means  to  the  end  she  requires.” 

“ Ah,  Maude,  how  dreadful ! But  you  know  what 
I mean ; do  you  think  she  loves  him — you  know  ? ” 

“ My  dear  Gerty,  Marian  Ashurst  never  loved  anybody 
but  one,  and ” 

“Ah,  I know  who  you  mean ; that  man  who  kept  the 
school — no,  not  kept  the  school,  was  usher  to  Mr.  Ashurst 
— Mr. — Joyce  : that  was  it.  She  was  fond  of  him,  wasn’t 
she?” 

“ She  was  engaged  to  him,  if  the  report  we  heard  was 
true ; but  as  to  fond  of  him — the  only  person  Marian 
Ashurst  ever  cared  for  was — Marian  Ashurst  ! — Who’s 
there  ? ” 

A figure  glided  past  the  open  door,  dimly  seen  in  the 
waning  light.  But  there  was  no  response,  and  Gertrude’s 
remark  of  “ Only  one  of  the  servants  ” was  almost 
drowned  in  the  clanging  summons  of  the  dinner-bell. 


314 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


CHAPTER  XXYI1I. 

THE  OPPORTUNITY. 

Mr.  Bokenham  did  not  improve  in  the  estimation  either  of 
the  constituency  of  Brocksopp,  or  of  those  in  London  who 
had  the  guidance  of  electioneering  matters  in  the  borough 
in  the  Liberal  interest.  The  aspiring  candidate  was 
tolerably  amenable  at  first,  went  down  as  often  as  the 
policy  of  such  a course  was  suggested  to  him,  and  visited 
all  the  people  whose  names  were  on  the  list  with  which  he 
was  supplied;  though  his  objectionable  manner,  and  his 
evident  lack  of  real  interest  in  the  place  and  its  in- 
habitants, militated  very  much  against  his  success.  But 
after  a little  time  he  neglected  even  these  slight  means  for 
cultivating  popularity.  A young  man,  with  an  excellent 
income,  and  with  the  prospect  of  a very  large  fortune  on 
his  father’s  death,  has  very  little  trouble  in  getting  into 
such  society  as  would  be  most  congenial  to  him,  more 
especially  when  that  society  is  such  as  is  most  affected  by 
the  classes  which  he  apes.  Young  Mr.  Bokenham,  whose 
chief  desire  in  life  was,  as  his  sharp-seeing,  keen-witted 
old  father  said  of  him,  to  “sink  the  shop,”  laid  himself 
out  especially  for  the  company  of  men  of  birth  and 
position,  and  he  succeeded  in  hooking  himself  on  to  one  of 
the  fastest  and  most  raffish  sets  in  London.  The  fact  that 
he  was  a novus  homo , and  that  his  father  was  “ in  trade,” 
which  had  caused  him  to  be  held  up  to  ridicule  at  Eton, 
and  had  rendered  men  shy  of  knowing  him  at  Christ- 
church, had,  he  was  delighted  to  perceive,  no  such  effect 
in  the  great  city.  He  began  with  a few  acquaintances 
picked  up  in  public,  but  he  speedily  enlarged  and  im- 
proved his  connection.  The  majors,  with  the  billiard- 
table  brevet,  the  captains,  and  the  shabby  old  bucks  of  St. 
Alban’s  Place,  with  whom  Tommy  Bokenham  at  first  con- 
sorted, were  soon  renounced  for  men  of  a widely  different 


THE  OPPORTUNITY. 


315 


stamp,  so  far  as  birth  and  breeding  were  concerned,  but 
with  much  the  same  tastes,  and  more  means  and  oppor- 
tunities of  gratifying  them.  It  is  probable  that  Mr. 
Bokenham  owed  his  introduction  among  these  scions  of  the 
upper  circles  to  a notion,  prevalent  among  a certain  section 
of  them,  that  he  might  be  induced  to  plunge  into  the 
mysteries  of  the  turf,  and  to  bet  largely,  even  if  he  did 
not  undertake  a racing  establishment.  But  they  were 
entirely  wrong.  Young  Tommy  had  not  sufficient  physi- 
cal go  and  pluck  in  him  for  anything  that  required 
energy ; he  commanded  his  position  in  the  set  in  which, 
to  his  great  delight,  at  length  he  found  himself,  by  giving 
elaborate  dinners  and  occasionally  lending  money  in 
moderate  amounts,  in  return  for  which  he  was  allowed  to 
show  himself  in  public  in  the  company  of  his  noble  ac- 
quaintances, and  was  introduced  by  them  to  certain  of 
their  male  and  female  friends,  the  latter  of  whom  were 
especially  frank  and  demonstrative  in  their  reception  and 
welcome  of  him. 

The  fascination  of  this  kind  of  life,  which  began  to 
dawn  on  young  Mr.  Bokenham  almost  concurrently  with 
the  idea  of  his  standing  for  the  borough  of  Brocksopp, 
soon  proved  to  be  incompatible  with  the  proper  discharge 
of  the  duties  required  of  him  as  candidate.  He  found  the 
necessity  for  frequent  visits  to  his  intended  constituents 
becoming  more  and  more  of  a nuisance  to  him,  and  entirely 
declined  a suggestion  which  was  made  to  the  effect  that 
now,  as  the  time  of  the  election  was  so  near  at  hand,  it 
would  be  advisable  for  him  to  take  up  his  residence  at  his 
father’s  house,  and  give  his  undivided  attention  to  his 
canvassing.  It  was  pointed  out  to  him  that  his  opponent, 
Mr.  Creswell,  was  always  on  the  spot,  and,  quite  unex- 
pectedly, had  recently  shown  the  greatest  interest  in  the 
forthcoming  struggle,  and  was  availing  himself  of  every 
means  in  his  power  to  insure  his  success ; but  Tommy 
Bokenham  refused  to  “ bury  himself  at  Brocksopp,”  as  ho 
phrased  it,  until  it  was  absolutely  necessary.  “ It  is 
positively  cruel,”  wrote  Mr.  Harrington,  a clever  young 


316 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


clerk,  who  had  been  despatched  by  his  principals,  Messrs. 
Potter  and  Fyfe,  the  great  parliamentary  agents,  to  report 
how  matters  were  progressing  in  the  borough,  “ to  see  how 
Mr.  B.  is  cutting  out  the  running  for  the  other  side ! I’ve 
had  a talk  with  South,  the  attorney,  who  is  acting  for  us 
down  here,  a shrewd,  sensible  fellow,  and  he  says  there  is 
every  hope  of  our  pulling  through,  even  as  we  are,  but 
that  if  we  had  only  brought  another  kind  of  man  to  the 
post,  our  success  would  be  a moral.55  Old  Mr.  Potter,  a 
very  rigid  old  gentleman  residing  at  Clapham,  and  deacon 
of  a chapel  there,  growled  very  much,  both  over  the 
matter  and  the  manner  of  this  communication. 

“ What  does  this  young  man  mean,55  he  asked,  peering 
over  the  paper  at  his  partner  through  his  double  glasses, 
“by  using  this  turf  slang?  Bring  a man  to  the  ‘post!’ 
and  a ‘ moral 5 indeed  ! — a word  I should  not  have  expected 
to  find  in  this  gentleman’s  vocabulary.55  But  Mr.  Fyfe, 
who  had  a sneaking  liking  for  sport,  appeased  the  old 
gentleman,  and  pointed  out  that  the  letter,  though  oddly 
worded,  was  really  full  of  good  and  reliable  information, 
and  that  young  Harrington  had  executed  his  commission 
cleverly.  Both  partners  shook  their  heads  over  this 
further  account  of  their  candidate’s  shortcomings,  and 
decided  that  some  immediate  steps  must  be  taken  to 
retrieve  their  position.  The  time  of  election  was  im- 
minent ; their  opponent  was  resident,  indefatigable,  and 
popular ; and  though  the  report  from  Harrington  spoke  of 
ultimate  success  with  almost  certainty,  it  would  not  do  to 
run  the  smallest  risk  in  a boron gh  which  they  had  pledged 
their  credit  to  wrest  from  Tory  domination. 

Messrs.  Potter  and  Fyfe  were  not  likely  men  to  ventilate 
in  public  any  opinions  which  they  may  have  held  regarding 
the  business  matters  on  which  they  were  employed,  but  the 
inattention  of  Mr.  Bokenham  to  his  duties,  and  the  manner 
in  which  he  was  throwing  away  his  chances  began  to  be 
talked  of  at  the  Comet  office,  and  the  news  of  it  even 
penetrated  to  Jack  Byrne’s  little  club.  It  was  on  the  day 
after  he  had  first  heard  of  it  that  the  old  man  walked  up 


THE  OPPORTUNITY. 


317 


to  Joyce’s  chambers,  and  on  entering  found  his  friend  at 
home,  and  glad  to  see  him.  After  a little  desultory 
conversation,  old  Byrne  began  to  talk  of  the  subject  with 
which  he  was  filled. 

“ Have  you  heard  anything  lately  of  that  man  who  was 
going  to  contest  your  old  quarters,  or  thereabouts,  for  us, 
Walter?  What’s  his  name?  Bokenham ! that’s  it,”  he 
said. 

“ Oh  yes,”  answered  Joyce,  “ oddly  enough,  they  were 
talking  of  him  last  night  at  the  office.  I went  into 
O’Connor’s  room  just  as  Forrest,  who  had  come  down  with 
some  not  very  clearly  defined  story  from  the  Beform,  was 
suggesting  a slashing  article  with  the  view  of  what  he 
called  ‘ rousing  to  action  ’ this  very  young  man.  O’Connor 
pooh-poohed  the  notion  and  put  Forrest  off ; but  from 
what  he  said  to  me  afterwards,  I imagine  Mr.  Bokenham 
is  scarcely  the  man  for  the  emergency — a good  deal  too 
lukewarm  and  dilettante.  They  won’t  stand  that  sort  of 
thing  in  Brocksopp,  and  it’s  a point  with  our  party,  and 
especially  with  me,  that  Brocksopp  should  be  won.” 

“Especially  with  you,”  repeated  the  old  man;  “ay, 
ay,  I mind  you  saying  that  before  ! That’s  strong  reaction 
from  the  old  feeling,  Walter  ! ” 

“ Strong,  but  not  unnatural,  I think.  You,  to  whom  I 
told  the  story  when  I first  knew  you,  will  remember  what 
my  feelings  were  towards — towards  that  lady.  You  will 
remember  how  entirely  I imagined  my  life  bound  up  in 
hers,  my  happiness  centred  on  all  she  might  say  or  do. 
You  saw  what  happened — how  she  flung  me  aside  at  the 
very  first  opportunity,  with  scant  ceremony  and  shallow 
excuses,  careless  what  effect  her  treachery  might  have  had 
upon  me.” 

“ It  was  all  for  the  best,  lad,  as  it  turned  out.” 

“ As  it  turned  out,  yes  ! But  how  did  she  know  that, 
when  she  did  it  ? Had  she  known  that  it  would  have 
turned  out  for  the  worst,  for  the  very  worst,  would  she 
have  stayed  her  hand  and  altered  her  purpose?  Not 
she.” 


318 


WRECKED  IK  PORT. 


“ I don’t  like  to  see  you  vindictive,  boy ; recollect  she’s 
a woman,  and  that  once  you  were  fond  of  her.” 

“ I am  not  vindictive,  as  I take  it ; and  when  I think 
of  her  treatment  of  me,  the  recollection  that  I was  fond  of 
her  is  not  very  likely  to  have  a softening  effect.  See 
here,  old  friend  : in  cold  blood,  and  with  due  deliberation, 
Marian  Ashurst  extinguished  what  was  then  the  one  light 
in  my  sufficiently  dreary  life.  Fortune  has  given  me 
the  chance,  I think,  of  returning  the  compliment,  and  I 
intend  to  do  it.” 

Jack  Byrne  turned  uneasily  in  his  chair;  it  was 
evident  that  his  sentiments  were  not  in  accord  with  those 
of  his  friend.  After  a minute’s  pause  he  said,  “Even 
supposing  that  the  old  eye-for-eye  and  tooth-for-tootli 
retribution  were  allowable — which  I am  by  no  means 
disposed  to  grant,  especially  where  women  are  concerned — 
are  you  quite  sure  that  in  adopting  it  you  are  getting  at 
what  you  wish  to  attain  ? You  have  never  said  so,  but 
it  must  be  as  obvious  to  you  as  it  is  to  me  that  Mrs. 
Creswell  does  not  care  for  her  husband.  Do  you  think, 
then,  she  will  be  particularly  influenced  by  a matter  in 
which  his  personal  vanity  is  alone  involved?” 

Joyce  smiled  somewhat  grimly.  “ My  dear  old  friend, 
it  was  Mrs.  Ores  well’s  ambition  that  dealt  me  what  might 
have  been  my  coup  de  grace . My  anxiety  about  this  con- 
test at  Brocksopp  springs  from  my  desire  to  wound  Mrs. 
Creswrell’s  ambition.  My  knowledge  of  that  lady  is 
sufficient  to  prove  to  me,  as  clearly  as  though  I were  in  her 
most  sacred  confidence,  that  she  is  most  desirous  that  her 
husband  should  be  returned  to  Parliament.  The  few 
words  that  were  dropped  by  that  idiot  Bokenham  the  other 
day  pointed  to  this,  but  I should  have  been  sure  of  it  if  I 
had  not  heard  them.  After  all,  it  is  the  natural  result, 
and  what  might  have  been  expected.  During  her  poverty 
her  prayer  was  for  money.  Money  acquired,  another  want 
takes  its  place,  and  so  it  will  be  to  the  end  of  the  chapter.” 

As  Joyce  ceased  speaking  there  was  a knock  at  the 
door,  and  Jack  Byrne  opening  it,  admitted  young  Mr. 


THE  OPPORTUNITY. 


319 


Harrington,  the  confidential  clerk  of  Messrs.  Potter  and 
Fyfe.  Young  Mr.  Harrington  was  festively  attired  in 
a garb  of  sporting  cut,  and  wore  his  curved -rimmed  hat 
on  the  top  of  his  right  ear;  but  there  was  an  unusual, 
anxious  look  in  his  face,  and  he  showed  signs  of  great 
mental  perturbation,  not  having,  as  he  afterwards  allowed 
to  his  intimate  friends,  “ been  so  thoroughly  knocked  out 
of  time  since  Magsman  went  a mucker  for  the  Two 
Thou’.”  This  perturbation  was  at  once  noticed  by  Mr. 
Byrne. 

“ Ah,  Mr.  Harrington,”  said  he ; “ glad  to  see  you, 
sir.  Not  looking  quite  so  fresh  as  usual,”  he  added,  with 
a cynical  grin.  “ What’s  the  matter — nothing  wrong  in 
the  great  turf  world,  I trust  ? Sister  to  Saucebox  has  not 
turned  out  a roarer,  or  Billy  Billingsgate  broken  down 
badly?” 

“ Thank  you  very  much  for  your  kind  inquiries,  Mr. 
Byrne,”  said  Mr.  Harrington,  eyeing  the  old  man  steadily, 
without  changing  a muscle  of  his  face.  “ I’ll  not  forget  to 
score  up  one  to  you,  sir,  and  I’ll  take  care  to  repay  you 
that  little  funniment  on  the  first  convenient  opportunity. 
Just  now  I’ve  got  something  else  in  hand.  Look  here, 
let’s  stow  this  gaff!  Mr.  Joyce,  my  business  is  with  you. 
The  fact  is,  there  is  an  awful  smash-up  at  Brocksopp,  and 
my  governors  want  to  see  you  at  once.” 

“ At  Brocksopp  ? ” said  Joyce,  with  a start.  “ A smash 
at  Brocksopp  ? ” 

“ Yes,”  said  Mr.  Harrington.  “ The  man  that  we 
were  all  depending  on,  young  Mr.  Bokenham,  has  come 
to  grief.” 

“ Head  ? ” exclaimed  old  Byrne. 

“ Oh  no,  not  at  all ; political  rather  than  social  grief,  I 
should  have  said.  The  fact  is,  so  far  as  we  can  make  out, 
Lord  and  Lady  Steppe — you  know  Lady  Steppe,  Mr. 
Joyce,  or,  at  all  events,  your  friend  Shimmer  of  the  Comet 
could  tell  you  all  about  her  : she  was  Miss  Tentose  in  the 
ballet  at  the  Lane — have  persuaded  our  sucking  senator 
to  go  to  Egypt  with  them  for  the  winter.  Lady  S.’s 


320 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


influence  is  great  in  that  quarter,  I understand — so  great 
that  he  pitches  up  Brocksopp,  and  let’s  us  all  slide  ! ” 

“ Given  up  Brocksopp  ?”  said  old  Byrne. 

“ Chucked  up  his  cards,  sir,”  said  Harrington,  “ when 
the  game  was  in  his  hand.  My  governors’  people  are 
regularly  up  a tree,  cornered,  and  all  that ; so  they  want 
to  see  you,  Mr.  Joyce,  at  once,  and  have  sent  me  to  fetch 
you.” 

“ To  fetch  him  ! Potter  and  Fyfe,  of  Abingdon  Street, 
have  sent  you  to  fetch  him  ! ” cried  old  Byrne,  in  great 
excitement.  “Walter,  do  you  think — do  you  recollect 
what  I said  to  you  some  time  ago?  Can  it  be  that 
it’s  coming  on  now  ? ” 

Joyce  made  no  verbal  reply,  but  he  grasped  his  old 
friend’s  hand  warmly,  and  immediately  afterwards  started 
off  with  Mr.  Harrington  in  the  hansom  cab  which  that 
gentleman  had  waiting  at  the  door. 

The  idea  that  had  flashed  through  old  Jack  Byrne’s 
mind,  preposterously  exaggerated  as  it  had  at  first  seemed 
to  him,  was  nevertheless  correct.  When  Joyce  arrived  at 
Messrs.  Potter  and  Fyfe’s  office,  he  found  there  not  merely 
those  gentlemen,  but  with  them  several  of  the  leading 
members  of  the  party,  and  a deputation  of  two  or  three 
Liberals  from  Brocksopp,  with  whom  Joyce  was  ac- 
quainted. Mr.  Moule  and  Mr.  Spalding,  nervously  excited, 
stepped  forwards  and  shook  hands  with  the  young  man  in 
a jerky  kind  of  manner.  Immediately  afterwards,  back- 
ing again  towards  their  chairs,  on  the  extremest  edge  of 
which  they  propped  themselves,  they  hid  their  hands  in 
their  coat-sleeves,  and  looked  round  in  a furtive  manner. 

After  a few  formal  speeches,  Mr.  Potter  proceeded  at 
once  to  business.  Addressing  Joyce,  he  said  it  was  pro- 
bably known  to  him  that  the  gentleman  on  whom  they 
had  hitherto  depended  as  a candidate  for  Brocksopp  had 
thrown  them  over,  and  at  the  eleventh  hour  had  left  them 
to  seek  for  another  representative.  In  a few  well-chosen 
and  diplomatically  rounded  sentences,  Mr.  Potter  pointed 


THE  OPPORTUNITY. 


321 


out  that  the  task  that  Mr.  Bokenham  had  imposed  upon 
them  was  by  no  means  so  difficult  a one  as  might  have  been 
imagined.  Mr.  Potter  would  not,  he  said,  indulge  in  any 
lengthened  speech.  His  business  was  simply  to  explain 
the  wishes  of  those  for  whom  he  and  his  partner  had  the 
honour  to  act — here  he  looked  towards  the  leaders  of  the 
party,  who  did  not  attempt  to  disguise  the  fact  that  they 
were  growing  rather  bored  by  the  Potterian  eloquence 
— and  those  wishes  were,  in  so  many  words,  that  Mr. 
Joyce  should  step  into  the  place  which  Mr.  Bokenham  had 
left  vacant. 

One  of  the  leaders  of  the  party  here  manifesting  an 
intention  of  having  something  to  say,  and  wishing  to  say 
it,  Mr.  Fyfe  promptly  interposed  with  the  remark  that  he 
should  be  able  to  controvert  an  assertion,  which  he  saw 
his  young  friend  Mr.  Joyce  about  to  make,  to  the  effect 
that  he  would  be  unable  to  carry  on  the  contest  for  want 
of  means.  He,  Mr.  Fyfe,  was  empowered  to  assert  that 
old  Mr.  Bokenham  was  so  enraged  at  his  son’s  defalcation, 
which  he  believed  to  have  been  mainly  brought  about  by 
Tory  agency,  Lord  Steppe’s  father,  the  Earl  of  Stair, 
being  a notoriously  bigoted  Blue,  that  he  was  prepared 
to  guarantee  the  expenses  of  any  candidate  approved  of  by 
the  party  and  by  the  town.  Mr.  Fyfe  here  pausing  to  take 
breath,  the  leader,  who  had  been  previously  baulked,  cut 
in  with  a neat  expression  of  the  party’s  approval  of  Mr. 
Joyce,  and  Mr.  Spalding  murmured  a few  incoherent 
words  to  the  effect  that  during  a life-long  acquaintance 
with  his  young  friend  the  people  of  Brocksopp  had  been 
in  entire  ignorance  that  he  had  anything  in  him, 
politically  or  otherwise,  beyond  book-learning,  and  that 
was  the  main  reason  for  their  wishing  him  to  represent 
them  in  Parliament. 

Although  a faint  dawning  of  the  truth  had  come  across 
him  when  Mr.  Harrington  announced  young  Bokenham’s 
defection,  Walter  Joyce  had  no  definite  idea  of  the  honour 
in  store  for  him.  Very  modestly,  and  in  very  few  words, 
he  accepted  the  candidature,  promising  to  use  every  excr- 

Y 


322 


WRECKED  IN  FORT. 


tion  for  the  attainment  of  success.  He  was  too  much 
excited  and  overcome  to  enter  into  any  elaborate  discus- 
sion at  that  time.  All  he  could  do  vras  to  thank  the  lead- 
ing members  of  the  party  for  their  confidence,  to  inform 
the  parliamentary-agent  firm  that  he  would  wait  upon  them 
the  next  day,  and  to  assure  Messrs.  Spalding  and  Moule 
that  the  Liberals  of  Brocksopp  would  find  him  among 
them  immediately.  Did  Walter  Joyce  falter  for  one 
instant  in  the  scheme  of  retribution  which  he  had  fore- 
shadowed, now  that  he  was  to  be  its  exponent,  now  that 
the  vengeance  which  he  had  anticipated  was  to  be  worked 
out  by  himself?  No ! On  the  contrary,  he  was  more 
satisfied  in  being  able  to  assure  himself  of  the  edge  of  the 
weapon,  and  of  the  strength  of  the  arm  by  which  the  blow 
should  be  dealt. 

“ We  calculated  too  soon  upon  the  effect  of  young 
Bokenham’s  escapade,  darling/’  said  Mr.  Creswell  to  his 
wife,  on  his  return  after  a day  in  Brocksopp.  “ The  field 
is  by  no  means  to  be  left  clear  to  us.  The  walls  of  the 
town  are  blazing  with  the  placards  of  a new  candidate  in 
the  Liberal  interest — a clever  man,  I believe — who  is  to 
have  all  the  elder  Bokenham’s  backing,  and  who,  from 
previous  connection,  may  probably  have  certain  local 
interests  of  his  own.” 

“Previous  connection — local  interest?  Who  can  it 
be  ? ” asked  Marian. 

“ An  old  acquaintance  of  yours,  I should  imagine ; at 
least,  the  name  is  familiar  to  me  in  connection  with  your 
father  and  the  old  days  of  Helmingham  school.  The  sig- 
nature to  the  address  is  4 Walter  Joyce.’ )9 


( 323  ) 


CHAPTEB  XXIXe 

CANVASSING. 

Splendid  as  was  the  opportunity  just  offered  to  Walter 
Joyce  by  the  parliamentary  agents,  it  is  more  than 
probable  that  he  would  have  declined  to  profit  by  it  had 
the  scene  of  action  been  laid  anywhere  else  than  in  Brock- 
sopp,  and  his  opponent  been  any  one  other  than  Mr. 
Creswell.  Although  utterly  changed  from  the  usher  in 
a country  school,  who  was  accustomed  to  take  life  as  it 
came, — or  indeed  from  the  young  man  who,  when  he 
obtained  Lord  Hetherington’s  private  secretaryship,  looked 
upon  himself  as  settled  for  life, — Joyce  had  even  now 
scarcely  any  ambition,  in  the  common  acceptation  of  the 
word.  To  most  men  brought  up  as  he  had  been,  member- 
ship of  parliament  would  have  meant  London  life  in  good 
society,  excellent  station  of  one’s  own,  power  of  dispensing 
patronage  and  conferring  favours  on  others,  and  very 
excellent  opportunity  for  getting  something  pleasant  and 
remunerative  for  one’s  self,  when  the  chancp  offered.  To 
Walter  Joyce  it  meant  the  acceptance  of  a sacred  trust,  to 
the  proper  discharge  and  fulfilment  of  which  all  his  ener- 
gies were  pledged  by  the  mere  fact  of  his  acceptance  of 
the  candidature.  Xot,  indeed,  that  he  had  ever  had  any 
thoughts  of  relinquishing  his  recently  acquired  profession, 
the  press  ; he  looked  to  that  as  his  sole  means  of  support ; 
but  he  felt  that  should  he  be  successful  in  obtaining  a seat 
in  the  House,  his  work  would  be  worth  a great  deal  more 
than  it  had  hitherto  been,  and  he  should  be  able  to  keep 
his  income  at  the  same  amount  while  he  devoted  half  of 
the  time  thus  saved  to  his  political  duties. 

But  being,  as  has  been  said,  thoroughly  happy  in  his 
then  career,  Joyce  would  never  have  thought  of  entertain- 
ing the  proposition  made  to  him  through  the  medium  of 
Messrs.  Potter  and  Fyfe  had  it  not  been  for  the  desire  of 


324 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


revenging  himself  on  Marian  Creswell  by  opposing  to  the 
last,  and,  if  possible,  in  every  honourable  way,  by  defeat- 
ing, her  husband.  Joyce  felt  perfectly  certain  that  Mr. 
Creswell — quiet,  easy-going  old  gentleman  as  he  had  been 
of  late  years,  and  more  likely  than  ever  to  be  disinclined 
to  leave  his  retirement  and  do  battle  in  the  world  since 
his  son’s  death — was  a mere  puppet  in  the  hands  of  his 
wife,  whose  ambition  had  prompted  her  to  make  her 
husband  seek  the  honour,  and  whose  vanity  would  be 
deeply  wounded  at  his  failure.  Walter  Joyce’s  personal 
vanity  was  also  implicated  in  the  result,  and  he  certainly 
would  not  have  accepted  the  overtures  had  there  not  been 
a good  chance  of  success  ; but  Mr.  Harrington,  who,  out  of 
his  business,  was  a remarkably  sharp,  shrewd,  and  far- 
seeing  man  of  the  world  and  of  business,  spoke  very 
positively  on  this  point,  and  declared  their  numbers  were 
so  strong,  and  the  popular  excitement  so  great  in  their 
favour,  that  they  could  scarcely  fail  of  success,  provided 
they  had  the  right  man  to  bring  forward.  To  win  the 
day  against  her ; to  show  her  that  the  man  she  basely 
rejected  and  put  aside  was  preferred,  in  a great  struggle, 
to  the  man  she  had  chosen ; that  the  position  which  she 
had  so  coveted  for  her  husband,  and  towards  the  attain- 
ment of  which  she  had  brought  into  play  all  the  influence 
of  her  wit  and  his  money,  had  been  snatched  from  her  by 
the  poor  usher  whom  she  had  found  good  enough  to  play 
with  in  her  early  days,  but  who  was  thrust  aside,  his 
fidelity  and  devotion  availing  him  nothing,  directly  a more 
eligible  opportunity  offered  itself-— that  would  be  sweet 
indeed  ! Yes,  his  mind  was  made  up ; he  would  use  all 
his  energies  for  the  prosecution  of  the  scheme  : it  should 
be  war  to  the  knife  between  him  and  Marian  Creswell. 

Joyce’s  manner  was  so  thorough  and  so  hearty,  his 
remarks  were  so  practical,  and  his  spirits  so  high,  when 
he  called  on  Messrs.  Potter  and  Fyfe  on  the  next  day, 
that  those  gentlemen  were  far  better  pleased  with  him, 
and  far  more  sanguine  of  his  popularity  and  consequent 
success  at  Brocksopp,  than  they  had  been  after  the  first 


CANVASSING. 


325 


interview.  Modesty  and  self- depreciation  were  qualities 
very  seldom  seen,  and  very  little  esteemed,  in  the  par- 
liamentary agents’  offices  in  Abingdon  Street.  Tho 
opinion  of  the  head  of  the  firm  was  that  Walter  wanted 
“ go ; ” and  it  was  only  owing  to  the  strenuous  inter- 
position of  Mr.  Harrington,  who  knew  Joyce’s  writings, 
and  had  more  than  once  heard  him  speak  in  public,  that 
they  did  not  openly  bemoan  their  choice  and  proceed  to 
look  out  for  somebody  else.  This,  however,  they  did  not 
do ; neither  did  they  mention  their  doubts  to  the  deputa- 
tion from  Brocksopp,  the  members  of  which  did  not, 
indeed,  give  them  time  to  do  so,  had  they  been  so  inclined, 
clearing  out  so  soon  as  the  interview  was  over,  and  hark- 
ing back  to  the  Tavistock  Hotel,  in  Co  vent  Garden,  there 
to  eat  enormous  dinners,  and  thence  to  sally  forth  for  the 
enjoyment  of  those  festivities  in  which  our  provincials  so 
much  delight,  and  the  reminiscences  of  which  serve  for 
discussion  for  months  afterwards.  The  parliamentary 
agents  were  very  glad  of  their  reticence  the  next  day. 
The  young  man’s  heartiness  and  high  spirits  seemed 
contagious ; the  sound  of  laughter,  a phenomenon  in 
Abingdon  Street,  was  heard  by  Mr.  Harrington  to  issue 
from  “ the  governors’  room ; ” and  old  Mr.  Potter  forgot 
so  far  the  staid  dignity  of  a chapel-deacon  as  to  clap 
Walter  Joyce  on  the  back,  and  wish  him  luck.  Joyce  was 
going  down  on  his  first  canvass  to  Brocksopp  by  himself ; 
he  would  not  take  any  one  with  him,  not  even  Mr.  Har- 
rington ; he  was  much  obliged  to  them  ; he  knew  some- 
thing of  Mr.  South,  the  local  Liberal  agent  (he  laughed 
inwardly  as  he  said  this,  remembering  how  he  used  to 
look  upon  Mr.  South  as  a tremendous  gun),  and  he  had  no 
doubt  they  would  get  on  very  well  together. 

“ You  know  South,  Mr.  Joyce  ? ” said  Mr.  Fyfe ; “ what 
a very  curious  thing!  I should  have  thought  that  old 
South’s  celebrity  was  entirely  local,  or  at  all  events 
confined  to  the  county.” 

“ Doubtless  it  is,”  replied  Joyce  ; “ but  then  you  know 
I ” 


326 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


“ Ah ! I forgot,”  interrupted  Mr.  Fyfe.  44  You  have 
some  relations  with  the  place.  Yes,  yes,  I heard  ! By 
the  way,  then,  I suppose  you  know  your  opponent,  Mr. 
Kerswill — C res  well — what’s  his  name?’’ 

“ Oh  yes,  I remember  Mr.  Creswell  perfectly ; but  he 
never  saw  much  of  me,  and  I should  scarcely  think  would 
recollect  me ! ” 

“ Ah  ! you’ll  excuse  me,  my  dear  sir,”  Mr.  Fyfe  added, 
after  a short  pause  ; 44  but  of  course  there’s  no  necessity  to 
impress  upon  you  the  importance  of  courtesy  towards  your 
opponent — I mean  Kerswill.  You’re  certain  to  meet  on 
the  hustings ; and  most  probably,  in  a swellish  place  like 
Brocksopp,  you’ll  be  constantly  running  across  each  other 
in  the  streets  while  you’re  on  your  canvass.  Then, 
courtesy,  my  dear  sir,  before  everything  else  ! ” 

44  You  need  not  be  afraid,  Mr.  Fyfe,”  said  Joyce, 
smiling ; 44 1 shall  be  perfectly  courteous  to  Mr.  Creswell.” 

44  Of  course  you  will,  my  dear  sir ; of  course  you  will ! 
Mustn’t  think  it  odd  in  me  to  suggest  it;  part  of  my 
business  to  point  these  things  out  when  I’m  coaching  a 
candidate ; and  necessary  too,  deuced  ^necessary  some- 
times, though  you  wouldn’t  think  it.  Less  than  six 
months  ago,  when  poor  Wiggington  was  lost  in  his  yacht 
in  the  Mediterranean — you  remember? — we  sent  down  a 

man  to  stand  for  his  borough.  Lord No ! I won’t 

tell  you  his  name;  but  the  eldest  son  of  an  earl.  The 
other  side  sent  down  a man  too — a brewer,  or  a maltster, 
or  something  of  that  kind ; but  a deucedly  gentlemanly 
fellow.  They  met  on  their  canvass,  these  two,  just  as 
you  and  Kerswill  might ; and  this  man,  like  a gentleman, 
took  off  his  hat.  What  did  our  man  do  ? Stopped  still, 
stuck  his  glass  in  his  eye,  and  stared ; never  bowed,  never 
moved ; give  you  my  word.  Had  to  withdraw  him  at 
once ; his  committee  stood  by  and  saw  it,  and  wouldn’t 
act  for  him  any  more.  4 Lordship  be  damned ! ’ that’s 
what  they  said.  Strong  language,  but  that’s  what  they 
said ; give  you  my  word.  Had  to  withdraw  him,  too  late 
to  find  another  man ; so  our  people  lost  the  seat.” 


CANVASSING. 


327 


The  first  thing  that  astonished  Joyce  on  his  arrival  at 
Brocksopp  was  the  sight  of  his  own  name  printed  in  large 
letters  on  flaming  placards,  and  affixed  in  all  the  con- 
spicuous places  of  the  town.  He  had  not  given  con- 
sideration to  this  sudden  notoriety,  and  his  first  realisation 
of  it  was  in  connection  with  the  thought  of  the  effect  it 
would  have  on  Marian,  who  must  have  seen  it ; her  hus- 
band must  have  told  her  of  the  name  of  his  opponent ; 
she  must  have  been  certain  that  it  was  not  a person  of 
similar  name,  but  her  discarded  lover  himself  who  was 
waging  battle  against  her,  and  attacking  her  husband  in 
the  stronghold  which  he  might  have  even  considered  safe. 
She  would  know  the  sentiments  which  had  prompted  him 
in  leaving  her  last  letter  unanswered,  in  taking  no  notice 
of  her  since  the  avowal  of  her  perfidy.  Up  to  this  time 
she  might  have  lectured  him  to  herself  as  ever  bewailing 
her  loss — as  would  have  been  the  case  had  she  been  taken 
from  him  by  death — as  the  prey  of  despair.  Now  she 
must  know  him  as  actuated  by  feelings  far  stronger  and 
sterner ; he  was  prepared  to  do  battle  to  the  death.  This 
feeling  was  pre-eminent  above  all  others ; this  desire  for 
revenge,  this  delight  at  the  occasion  which  had  been 
offered  him  for  lowering  the  pride  and  thwarting  the 
designs  of  the  woman  who  had  done  him  such  great 
wrong.  He  never  faltered  in  his  intention  for  a moment ; 
he  abated  his  scheming  not  one  jot.  He  had  some  idea 
on  the  journey  down  to  Brocksopp  that  perhaps  the  old 
reminiscences,  which  would  naturally  be  kindled  by  the 
sight  of  the  familiar  scenes  among  which  he  would  soon 
find  himself,  and  of  the  once  familiar  faces  by  which  he 
would  be  surrounded,  would  have  a softening  effect  on  his 
anger,  and  perhaps  somewhat  shake  his  determination. 
But  on  experience  he  did  not  find  it  so.  As  yet  he  had 
religiously  kept  away  from  the  neighbourhood  of  Helming- 
ham ; he  thought  it  better  taste  to  do  so,  and  his  duties 
in  canvassing  had  not  called  him  thither.  He  had  quite 
enough  to  do  in  calling  on  the  voters  resident  in  Brock- 
sopp. 


328 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


As  Walter  Joyce  had  not  been  to  Helmingham,  the 
village  folk,  who  in  their  old-fashioned  way  were  oddly 
punctilious,  thought  it  a point  of  etiquette  not  to  call 
upon  him,  though  such  as  were  politically  of  his  way  of 
thinking  took  care  to  let  him  know  he  might  reckon  on 
their  support;  and  of  all  the  people  whom  Walter  had 
been  in  the  habit  of  seeing  almost  daily  in  the  village, 
Jack  Forman,  the  ne’er-do-weel,  was  the  only  one  who 
came  over  expressly  to  Brocksopp  for  the  purpose  of  visit- 
ing his  old  friend.  It  was  not  so  much  friendship  as 
constant  thirst  that  prompted  Jack’s  visit ; he  had  been  in 
the  habit  of  looking  on  elections  as  institutions  for  the 
gratuitous  supply  of  ale  and  spirits,  extending  more  or 
less  over  the  term  of  a month,  to  all  who  chose  to  ask  for 
them,  and  hitherto  he  had  been  greatly  disappointed  in 
not  finding  his  name  on  the  free  list  of  the  Helmingham 
taverns.  So  it  was  well  worth  Jack’s  while  to  spend  a 
day  in  staggering  over  to  Brocksopp,  and  on  his  arrival  he 
met  with  a very  kind  reception  from  Walter,  sufficiently 
kind  to  enable  him  to  bear  up  against  the  black  looks  and 
ill-suppressed  growls  of  Mr.  South,  who,  in  his  capacity  of 
clerk  to  the  magistrates,  only  knew  Jack  as  a bit  of  a 
poacher,  and  a great  deal  of  a drunkard. 

Immediately  on  his  arrival  in  Brocksopp,  and  after  one 
or  two  preliminary  interviews  with  Mr.  South,  who,  as  he 
imagined,  had  forgotten  all  about  him,  and  was  much 
struck  by  his  knowledge  of  neighbouring  persons  and 
localities,  Joyce  proceeded  with  his  canvass,  and  after  a 
very  brief  experience  felt  that  Mr.  Harrington  had  not 
taken  too  rose-coloured  a view  of  his  chance  of  success. 
Although  to  most  of  the  electors  of  Brocksopp  he  was  per- 
sonally unknown,  and  though  such  as  remembered  his 
father  held  him  in  recollection  only  as  a sour,  cross- 
grained  man,  with  a leaning  towards  “ Methodee  ” and  a 
suspicion  of  avarice,  the  fact  that  Walter  was  not  an  entire 
stranger  had  great  influence  with  many  of  the  electors, 
and  his  appearance  and  manner  won  him  troops  of  friends. 
They  liked  his  frank  face  and  hearty  demeanour,  they  felt 


CANVASSING. 


329 


that  he  was  eminently  “ thorough,”  the  lack  of  which 
quality  had  been  the  chief  ground  of  complaint  against 
young  Bokenham,  and  they  delighted  in  his  lucid  argu- 
ment and  terse  way  of  laying  a question  before  them  and 
driving  it  home  to  their  understanding.  In  this  he  had 
the  advantage  of  his  opponent ; and  many  waverers,  with 
undefined  political  opinions,  who  attended  the  public 
meetings  of  both  parties,  were  won  over  to  Joyce’s  side  by 
the  applause  with  which  his  speeches  were  received,  and 
by  the  feeling  that  a man  who  could  produce  such  an 
effect  on  his  hearers  must  necessarily  be  a clever  man,  and 
the  right  person  to  be  sent  by  them  to  Parliament.  The 
fact  was  allowed  even  by  his  opponents.  Mr.  Teesdale 
wrote  up  to  Mr.  Gould  that  things  were  anything  but 
bright,  that  the  new  man  was  amazingly  popular,  and 
quite  young,  which  was  not  a bad  thing  when  great  exer- 
tion was  required ; that  he  was,  moreover,  a clever,  rapid, 
forcible  speaker,  and  seemed  to  be  leaving  their  man  very 
much  behind.  And  old  Croke,  who  had  been  induced  to 
attend  a meeting  convened  by  the  Liberals,  and  who,, 
though  for  respectability’s  sake  he  had  made  no  open  dis- 
turbance, had  been  dreadfully  shocked  at  the  doctrines 
which  he  had  heard,  not  merely  promulgated,  but  loudly 
applauded,  was  afterwards  compelled  to  confess  to  a select 
few  at  the  Lion  that  the  manner,  if  not  the  matter  of 
Walter  Joyce’s  speech  was  excellent.  “ Our  squire,”  he 
said,  “ speaks  like  a gen’alman  as  he  is,  soft  and  quiet  like, 
on  and  on  like  the  droppin’  o’  watter,  but  this  un  du  screw 
it  into  you  hard  and  fast ; and  not  content  wi’  drivin’  on 
it  home,  he  rivets  un  on  t’other  side.” 

Electioneering  matters  in  Brocksopp  wore  a very 
different  aspect  to  that  which  they  had  borne  a short  time 
previously.  Mr.  Teesdale  had  seen  from  the  beginning 
that  the  candidature  of  young  Mr.  Bokenham  was  not 
likely  to  be  very  dangerous  to  his  opponent,  however 
liberally  he  might  be  backed  by  his  indulgent  father. 
The  local  agent,  who  had  lived  all  his  life  among  the 
Brock soppians,  was  quite  aware  that  they  required  a man 


330 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


who  would  at  all  events  pretend  to  be  in  earnest,  which- 
ever suffrages  he  courted,  and  his  keen  eyes  told  him  at 
the  first  glance  that  young  Tommy  was  a vacillating, 
purposeless  pleasure-lover,  who  would  command  no  confi- 
dence, and  receive  but  few  votes.  When  the  Bokenham 
escapade  took  place  Mr.  Teesdale  telegraphed  the  news  to 
his  principal,  Mr.  Gould,  and  in  writing  to  him  on  the 
same  subject  by  the  next  post  said,  “ It  is  exactly  what  I 
always  anticipated  of  young  B.,  though  his  friends  did  not 
apparently  see  it.  I think  it  will  be  a shock  to  the  L.’s, 
and  should  not  be  surprised  if  our  man  had  a walk-over.” 
Mr.  Teesdale  was  essentially  a country  gentleman,  and 
though  he  thought  Mr.  Harrington  a “ turfy  cad,”  saw  no 
harm  in  occasionally  employing  a sporting  phrase,  even  in 
his  business.  But  now  all  was  altered  ; the  appearance  of 
Walter  Joyce  upon  the  scene,  the  manner  in  which  he  was 
backed,  his  gentlemanly  conduct  and  excellent  speaking 
had  an  immediate  and  extraordinary  effect.  The  Tory 
influence  under  Sir  George  Kent  had  been  so  all-powerful 
for  many  years,  that  all  thoughts  of  a contest  bud  been 
abandoned,  and  there  were  scores  of  men,  farmers  and 
manufacturers,  on  the  register,  who  had  never  taken  the 
trouble  to  record  their  vote.  To  the  astonishment  and 
dismay  of  Mr.  Teesdale,  most  of  them  on  being  waited  on 
in  Mr.  Creswell’s  interest,  declared  that  their  leanings 
were  more  towards  Liberalism  than  Conservatism,  and  • 
that  now  they  had  the  chance  of  returning  a candidate 
who  would  do  them  credit  and  be  a proper  advocate  of 
their  views,  they  should  certainly  give  him  their  support. 
The  fact,  too,  that  Joyce  was  a self-made  man  told  im- 
mensely in  his  favour,  especially  with  the  manufacturing 
classes.  Mr.  Harrington,  who  had  paid  a couple  of  fljdng 
visits  to  the  town,  had  possessed  himself  of  certain 
portions  of  Walter’s  family  history,  and  disseminated  them 
in  such  quarters  as  he  thought  would  be  advantageous. 

“ Father  were  grocer  in  village  hard  by ! ” they  would 
repeat  to  one  another  in  wonder,  “and  this  young  un 
stuck  to  his  buke,  and  so  crammed  his  head  wi’  lurnin5 


CANVASSING. 


331 


that  he’s  towt  tu  three  Lards  up  in  London,  and  writes  in 
newspapers — think  o’  that  now!”  It  was  in  vain  that 
Mr.  Teesdale,  when  he  heard  of  the  success  of  his  opponent’s 
move,  went  about  pointing  out  that  Mr.  Creswell  was  not 
only  a self-made  man,  having  risen  from  nothing  to  his 
then  eminence,  but  that  all  the  money  which  he  had  made 
was  engaged  in  the  employment  and  development  of  labour. 
The  argument  was  sound,  but  it  did  not  seem  to  have  the 
same  effect ; whatever  it  was,  it  had  the  same  result,  a 
decided  preference  for  Mr.  Joyce  as  against  Mr.  Creswell, 
amongst  those  who,  possessing  votes,  had  hitherto  declined 
to  use  them. 

But  there  was  another  class  which  it  was  necessary  to 
propitiate,  and  with  which  Mr.  Teesdale  was  afraid  he 
stood  but  little  chance.  Many  of  the  “ hands”  had  obtained 
votes  since  the  last  election,  and  intended  making  use  of 
their  newly  acquired  prerogative.  There  was  no  fear  of 
their  not  voting;  the  only  question  was  on  which  side 
they  would  cast  the  preponderance  of  their  influence. 
This  was  soon  seen.  Naturally  they  were  inclined  to 
support  Walter  Joyce,  but  whatever  lingering  doubts  they 
may  have  had  were  dispelled  as  soon  as  Jack  Byrne 
appeared  upon  the  scene,  and,  despite  of  Joyce’s  protests, 
determined  on  remaining  to  assist  in  the  canvass.  “ Why 
not ? ” said  Jack ; “let  me  have  my  way.  I’m  an  old  man 
now,  lad,  and  haven’t  so  many  fancies  that  I mayn’t  indulge 
one  now  and  again.  The  business  suffer ! ” he  said,  in 
reply  to  something  that  Walter  had  said ; “ the  business, 
indeed  ! You  know  well  enough  that  the  bird-stuffing 
now  is  a mere  pretext — a mere  something  that  I keep  for 
my  ‘ idle  hands  to  do,’  and  that  it’s  no  necessity,  thank  the 
Lord  ! So  let  me  bide  here,  lad,  and  aid  in  the  good  work. 
I think  I may  be  of  use  among  a few  of  them  yet.”  And 
he  was  right.  Not  merely  was  the  old  man’s  name  known 
and  venerated  among  the  older  “hands,”  as  one  of  the 
“ martyrs  of  ’48,”  but  his  quaint  caustic  tongue  made  him 
an  immense  favourite  with  the  younger  men;  and  soon 
there  were  no  meetings  brought  to  a close  without  loud 
demands  for  a “bit  speech ” from  Jack  Byrne. 


332 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


Nor  was  it  amongst  the  farmer  and  manufacturing- 
classes  alone  that  Mr.  Joyce  received  pledges  of  support. 
Several  of  the  neighbouring  county  gentry  and  clergy, 
who  had  hung  back  during  Mr.  Bokenham’s  candidature, 
enrolled  themselves  on  the  committee  of  the  new-comer ; 
and  one  of  his  most  active  adherents  was  Mr.  Bentbalh 
It  was  not  until  after  due  deliberation,  and  much  weighing 
of  pros  and  cons,  that  the  head-master  of  Helmingham 
Grammar  School  took  this  step;  but  he  smiled  when  he 
had  thoroughly  made  up  his  mind,  and  muttered  some- 
thing to  himself  about  its  being  “ a shot  for  madam  in 
more  ways  than  one.”  When  he  had  decided  he  was  by 
no  means  underhand  in  his  conduct,  but  went  straight  to 
Mr.  Creswell,  taking  the  opportunity  of  catching  him  away 
from  home  and  alone,  and  told  him  that  the  Benthall 
family  had  been  staunch  Liberals  for  generations ; and 
that,  however  much  he  might  regret  being  opposed  in 
politics  to  a gentleman  for  whom  he  entertained  such  a 
profound  esteem  and  regard,  he  could  not  forswear  the 
family  political  faith.  Mr.  Creswell  made  him  a polite 
reply,  and  forthwith  forgot  all  about  it;  and  Marian, 
though  she  was  in  the  habit  of  questioning  her  husband 
pretty  closely  at  the  end  of  each  day  as  to  the  progress  he 
had  made,  looked  upon  Mr.  Benthall ’s  vote  as  so  perfectly 
secure  that  she  never  asked  about  the  matter. 

Notwithstanding  the  favourable  reception  which  he 
met  with  everywhere,  and  the  success  which  seemed 
invariably  to  attend  him  in  his  canvass,  Joyce  found  it 
very  heavy  work.  The  constant  excitement  soon  began 
to  tell  upon  him,  and  the  absurdity  of  the  questions  some- 
times asked,  or  the  pledges  occasionally  required  of  him, 
irritated  him  so  much  that  he  began  to  inquire  of  himself 
whether  he  was  really  wise  in  going  through  with  the 
affair,  and  whether  he  was  not  paying  a little  too  dearly 
even  for  that  revenge  for  which  he  had  longed,  and  which 
was  almost  within  his  grasp.  His  fidelity  to  the  cause  to 
which  he  had  pledged  himself  would  doubtless  have  caused 
him  to  smother  these  murmurings  without  any  extraneous 


CANVASSING. 


333 


aid;  but  just  at  that  time  he  had  an  adventure  which  at 
once  put  an  end  to  all  doubt  on  the  subject. 

One  bright  wintry  morning  he  arose  at  the  hotel  with 
the  determination  to  take  a day’s  rest  from  his  labours,  and 
to  endeavour  to  recruit  himself  by  a little  quiet  and  fresh 
air.  He  had  been  up  late  the  previous  night  at  a very 
large  meeting  of  his  supporters,  the  largest  as  yet  gathered 
together,  which  he  had  addressed  with  even  more  than 
wonted  effect.  He  felt  that  he  was  speaking  more  forcibly 
than  usual ; he  could  not  tell  why,  he  did  not  even  know 
what  prompted  him  ; but  he  felt  it.  It  could  not  have 
been  the  presence  of  the  parliamentary  agent,  Mr.  Fyfe, 
who  had  come  down  from  London  to  see  how  his  young 
friend  was  getting  on,  and  who  was  really  very  much 
astonished  at  his  young  friend’s  eloquence.  Walter  Joyce 
was  speaking  of  the  way  in  which  the  opposite  party  had, 
when  in  power,  broken  the  pledges  they  had  given,  and 
laughed  to  scorn  the  promises  they  had  made  when  seeking 
power,  and  in  dilating  upon  it  he  used  a personal  illus- 
tration, comparing  the  voters  to  a girl  who  had  been  jilted 
and  betrayed  by  her  lover,  who  had  been  unexpectedly 
raised  to  riches.  Unconsciously  fired  by  his  own  expe- 
rience, he  displayed  a most  forcible  and  highly  wrought 
picture  of  the  despair  of  the  girl  and  the  villainy  of  the 
man,  and  roused  his  audience  to  a perfect  storm  of  enthu- 
siasm. No  one  who  heard  him,  as  he  thought,  except 
Jack  Byrne,  had  the  least  inkling  of  his  story,  or  of  its 
effect  upon  his  eloquence;  but  the  “hands”  were  immensely 
touched  and  delighted,  and  the  effect  was  electrical. 
Walter  went  home  thoroughly  knocked  up,  and  the  next 
morning  the  reaction  had  set  in.  He  felt  it  impossible  to 
attend  to  business,  sent  messages  to  Mr.  Fyfe  and  to  Byrne, 
telling  them  they  must  get  on  without  him  for  the  day, 
and,  after  a slight  breakfast,  hurried  out  of  the  hotel  by 
the  back  way.  There  were  always  plenty  of  loafers  and 
idlers  hanging  round  all  sides  of  the  house,  eager  to  stare 
at  him,  to  prefer  a petition  to  him,  or  to  point  him  out  to 
their  friends ; but  this  morning  he  was  lucky  enough  to 


334 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


escape  them,  and,  thanks  to  his  knowledge  of  the  locality, 
to  strike  upon  an  unfrequented  path,  which  soon  took  him 
clear  of  the  town  and  brought  him  to  the  open  fields. 

He  had  forgotten  the  direction  in  which  the  path  led, 
or  he  would  most  probably  have  avoided  it  and  chosen 
some  other,  for  there  lay  Helmingham  village  directly 
before  him.  Hitherto  he  had  carefully  avoided  even 
looking  towards  it,  but  there  it  was,  under  his  eyes.  At 
some  distance  it  is  true,  but  still  sufficiently  near  for  him, 
with  his  knowledge  of  the  place,  to  recognise  every  outline. 
There,  away  on  the  horizon,  was  the  school-house ; there 
the  church ; there,  dipping  down  towards  the  middle  of 
the  High  Street,  the  house  which  had  been  so  long  his 
father’s.  What  years  ago  it  seemed  ! There  were  altera- 
tions, too ; several  newly  built  houses,  a newly  made  road 
leading,  he  supposed,  to  Woolgreaves.  Woolgreaves  ! he 
could  not  see  the  house,  he  was  thankful  for  that,  but  he 
overlooked  a portion  of  the  grounds  from  where  he  stood, 
and  saw  the  sun  reflected  from  much  sparkling  glass, 
evidently  conservatories  of  recent  erection.  “She’s  spend- 
ing the  price  for  which  she  sold  me  ! ” he  muttered  to 
himself. 

He  crossed  a couple  of  fields,  clambered  over  a hedge, 
and  jumped  down  into  the  newly  made  road  which  he  had 
noticed,  intending,  after  pursuing  it  a short  distance,  to 
strike  across,  leaving  Woolgreaves  on  his  right,  and  make 
for  Helmingham.  He  could  roam  about  the  outskirts  of 
the  old  place  without  attracting  attention  and  without 
any  chance  of  meeting  with  her.  He  had  gone  but  a very 
little  way  when  he  heard  a sharp,  clear,  silvery  tinkling 
of  little  bells,  then  the  noise  of  horse-hoofs  on  the  hard, 
dry  road,  and  presently  came  in  sight  a little  low  carriage, 
drawn  by  a very  perfect  pair  of  iron-gray  ponies,  and 
driven  by  a lady  dressed  in  a sealskin  cloak  and  a coquet- 
tish sealskin  hat.  He  knew  her  in  an  instant.  Marian  ! 

While  he  was  deliberating  what  to  do,  whether  to 
remain  where  he  was  or  jump  the  hedge  and  disappear, 
before  he  could  take  any  action  the  pony  carriage  had 


CANVASSING. 


335 


neared  him,  and  the  ponies  were  stopped  by  his  side.  She 
had  seen  him  in  the  distance,  and  recognised  him  too ; he 
knew  that  by  the  flush  that  overspread  her  usually  pale 
face.  She  was  looking  bright  and  well,  and  far  handsomer 
than  he  ever  remembered  her.  He  had  time  to  notice  ail 
that  in  one  glance,  before  she  spoke. 

“ I am  glad  of  this  accidental  meeting,  Mr.  Joyce!  ” 
she  said,  with  the  slightest  tremor  in  her  voice,  “for 
though  I had  made  up  my  mind  to  see  you  I did  not  see 
the  opportunity.’’ 

"Walter  merely  bowed. 

46  Do  you  mind  walking  with  me  for  five  minutes  ? 
I’ll  not  detain  you  longer.”  Walter  bowed  again. 
“ Thank  you  very  much.  James,  follow  with  the  ponies.” 
She  stepped  out  of  the  carriage  with  perfect  grace  and 
dignity,  just  touching  with  the  tips  of  her  fingers  the  arm 
which  Walter,  half  in  spite  of  himself,  held  out. 

“You  will  not  expect  me  to  act  any  part  in  this  matter, 
Mr.  Joyce,”  she  said,  after  a moment’s  pause.  “ I mean 
to  make  no  pretence  of  being  astonished  at  finding  you 
here,  in  direct  opposition  to  me  and  mine ! ” 

“No,  indeed ! that  would  be  time  wasted,  Mrs.  Cres- 
well,”  said  Walter,  speaking  for  the  first  .time.  “ Oppo- 
sition to  you  and  yours  is  surely  the  thing  most  likely  to 
be  expected  in  me.” 

“ Exactly ! Although  at  first  I scarcely  thought  you 
would  take  the  breaking  off  of  our  relations  in  the  way 
you  did,  I guessed  it  when  you  did  not  write ; I knew  it, 
of  course,  when  you  started  here,  but  I was  never  so 
certain  of  your  feelings  in  regard  to  me  as  I was  last 
night.” 

“ Last  night  ? ” 

“ Last  night ! I was  present  at  the  Mechanics’  In- 
stitute. sitting  in  the  gallery  with  my  maid  and  her 
brother  as  escort.  I had  heard  much  of  your  eloquence, 
and  wanted  to  be  convinced.  It  seems  I selected  a 
specially  good  occasion.  You  were  particularly  scathing.” 

“ I spoke  what  I felt ” 


336 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


“ No  doubt ; you  could  not  have  spoken  so  without 
having  felt  all  }tou  described,  so  that  I can  completely 
imagine  how  you  feel  towards  me.  But  you  are  a sensible 
man,  as  well  as  a good  speaker,  and  that  is  why  I have 
determined  to  apply  to  you.” 

“ What  do  you  want,  Mrs.  Creswell?” 

“ I want  you  to  go  out  of  this  place,  Mr.  Joyce ; to 
take  your  name  off  the  walls,  and  your  candidature  out 
of  the  county ! I want  you  to  give  up  your  opposition  to 
my  husband.  You  are  too  strong  for  him — you  person- 
ally; not  your  cause,  but  you.  We  know  that;  the  last 
three  days  have  convinced  everybody  of  that,  and  you’ll 
win  the  election  if  you  stop.” 

Joyce  laughed  aloud.  “ I know  I shall,”  he  said,  his 
eyes  gleaming. 

“ W7hat  then?”  said  Marian,  quietly.  “ Do  you  know 
what  a poor  member  of  Parliament  is,  4 hanging  on  ’ at 
every  one’s  beck  and  call,  hunted  by  all,  respected  by 
none,  not  knowing  which  to  serve  most  as  most  likely  to 
be  able  to  serve  him — would  you  like  to  be  that,  would 
your  pride  suffer  that  ? That’s  all  these  people  want  of 
you — to  make  you  their  tool,  their  party’s  tool ; for  you 
yourself  they  have  not  the  remotest  care.  Do  you  hear  ? ” 
“ I do.  But  you  have  not  told  me,  Mrs.  Creswell, 
what  I should  get  for  retiring  ? ” 

“Your  own  terms,  Walter  Joyce,  whatever  they  were. 
A competence  for  life — enough  to  give  you  leisure  to 
follow  the  life  in  which,  as  I understand,  you  have  en- 
gaged, in  ease,  when  and  where  you  liked.  No  drudgery, 
no  anxiety,  all  your  own  settled  on  yourself!  ” 

“ You  are  strangely  anxious  about  the  result  of  this 
election,  Mrs.  Creswell.” 

“ I am — and  I am  willing  to  pay  for  it.” 

Joyce  laughed  again — a very  unpleasant  laugh.  “ My 
dear  Mrs.  Creswell,”  said  he,  “if  government  could  pro- 
mise me  ten  times  your  husband’s  fortune  to  withdraw 
from  this  contest,  I would  refuse.  If  I had  your  husband’s 
fortune,  I would  gladly  forfeit  it  for  the  chance  of  winning 


BAFFLED. 


337 


this  election,  and  defeating  you.  You  will  excuse  my 
naming  a money  value  for  such  pleasure  ; but  I know  that 
hitherto  it  has  been  the  only  one  you  could  understand  or 
appreciate.  Good  morning  ! ” And  he  took  off  his  hat 
and  left  her  standing  in  the  road. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

BAFFLED. 

Marian  remained  standing  where  Walter  Joyce  had  left 
her,  gazing  after  his  retreating  figure  until  it  had  passed 
out  of  sight.  At  first  so  little  did  she  comprehend  the  full 
meaning  of  the  curt  sentence  in  which  he  had  conveyed  to 
her  his  abrupt  rejection  of  the  bribe  which  she  had 
proposed  to  him,  his  perfect  appreciation  of  the  snare 
which  she  had  prepared  for  him,  that  she  had  some  sort  of 
an  idea  that  he  would  hesitate  on  his  career,  stop,  turn 
back,  and  finally  consent,  if  not  to  an  immediate  con- 
cession to  her  views,  at  all  events  to  some  further  dis- 
cussion, with  a view  to  future  settlement.  But  after  his 
parting  bow  he  strode  unrelentingly  onward,  and  it  was 
not  until  he  had  reached  the  end  of  the  newly  made  road, 
and,  dropping  down  into  the  meadows  leading  to  Ilel- 
mingham,  had  entirely  disappeared,  that  Marian  realised 
how  completely  she  had  been  foiled,  was  able  to  under- 
stand, to  estimate,  and,  in  estimating,  to  wince  under,  the 
bitter  scorn  with  which  her  suggestion  had  been  received, 
the  scathing  terms  in  which  that  scorn  had  been  conveyed. 
A money  value  for  anything  to  be  desired — that  was  the 
only  way  in  which  he  could  make  it  clear  to  her  under- 
standing or  appreciation — was  not  that  what  he  had  said? 
A money  value ! Marian  Creswell  was  not  of  those  who 
sedulously  hide  their  own  failings  from  themselves,  shrink 

z 


338 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


at  the  very  thought  of  them,  make  cupboard-skeletons  of 
them,  to  be  always  kept  under  turned  key.  Too  sensible 
for  this,  she  knew  that  this  treatment  only  enhanced  the 
importance  of  the  skeleton,  without  at  all  benefiting  its 
possessor,  felt  that  much  the  better  plan  was  to  take  it  out 
and  subject  it  to  examination,  observe  its  form  and  its 
articulation,  dust  its  bones,  see  that  its  joints  swung 
easily,  and  replace  it  in  its  cupboard-home.  But  all  these 
rites  were,  of  course,  performed  in  private,  and  the  world 
was  to  be  kept  in  strict  ignorance  of  the  existence  of  the 
skeleton.  And  now  Walter  Joyce  knew  of  it ; a money 
value,  her  sole  standard  of  appreciation.  Odd  as  it  may 
seem,  Marian  had  never  taken  the  trouble  to  imagine  to 
herself  to  what  motive  Walter  would  ascribe  her  rejection 
of  him,  her  preference  of  Mr.  Creswell.  True,  she  had 
herself  spoken  in  her  last  letter  of  the  impossibility  of  her 
enjoying  life  without  wealth  and  the  luxuries  which 
wealth  commands,  but  she  had  argued  to  herself  that  he 
would  scarcely  have  believed  that,  principally,  perhaps, 
from  the  fact  of  her  having  advanced  the  statement  so 
boldly,  and  now  she  found  him  throwing  the  argument  in 
her  teeth.  And  if  Walter  knew  and  understood  this  to  be 
the  dominant  passion  of  her  soul,  the  great  motive  power 
of  her  life,  the  knowledge  was  surely  not  confined  to  him 
— others  would  know  it  too.  In  gaining  her  position  as 
Mr.  Creswell’s  wife,  her  success,  her  elation,  had  been  so 
great  as  completely  to  absorb  her  thoughts,  and  what 
people  might  say  as  to  the  manner  in  which  that  success 
had  been  obtained,  or  the  reasons  for  which  the  position 
had  been  sought,  had  never  troubled  her  for  one  instant. 
Now,  however,  she  saw  at  once  that  her  designs  had  been 
suspected,  and  doubtless  talked  of,  sneered  at,  and  jested 
over,  and  her  heart  beat  with  extra  speed,  and  the  blood 
suffused  her  cheeks,  as  she  thought  of  how  she  had 
probably  been  the  subject  of  alehouse  gossip,  how  the 
townsfolk  and  villagers  amongst  whom,  since  the  can- 
vassing time,  she  had  recently  been  so  much,  must  have 


BAFFLED. 


339 


all  discussed  her  after  she  had  left  their  houses,  and  all 
had  their  passing  joke  at  the  young  woman  who  had 
married  the  old  man  for  his  money.  She  stamped  her 
foot  in  rage  upon  the  ground  as  the  idea  came  into  her 
mind;  it  was  too  horrible  to  think  she  should  have 
afforded  scandal-matter  to  these  low  people,  it  was  so 
galling  to  her  pride ; she  almost  wished  that — and  just 
then  the  sharp,  clear,  silvery  tinkle  of  the  little  bells 
sounded  on  her  ear,  and  the  perfectly-appointed  carriage 
with  the  iron-gray  ponies  came  into  view,  and  the  next 
minute  she  had  taken  the  reins  from  James,  had  received 
his  salute,  and,  drawing  her  sealskin  cloak  closely  round 
her,  was  spinning  towards  her  luxurious  home,  with 
the  feeling  that  she  could  put  up  with  all  their  talk,  and 
endure  all  their  remarks,  so  long  as  she  enjoyed  the 
material  comforts  which  money  had  undoubtedly  brought 
her. 

Marian  started  on  her  return  drive  in  a pleasant  frame 
of  mind,  but  the  glow  of  satisfaction  had  passed  away 
long  before  she  reached  home,  and  had  been  succeeded  by 
very  different  feelings.  She  no  longer  cared  what  the 
neighbouring  people  might  say  about  her ; she  had  quite 
got  over  that,  and  was  pondering,  with  gradually  increas- 
ing fury,  over  the  manner  in  which  Walter  Joyce  had 
received  her  proposition,  and  the  light  and  airy  scorn, 
never  for  one  moment  striven  to  be  concealed,  with  which 
he  had  tossed  it  aside.  She  bit  her  lip  in  anger  and  vexa- 
tion as  she  thought  of  her  tremendous  folly  in  so  speedily 
unfolding  her  plan  without  previously  making  herself 
acquainted  with  Joyce’s  views,  and  seeing  how  he  was 
likely  to  receive  the  suggestion ; she  was  furious  with 
herself  as  she  recalled  his  light  laugh  and  easy  bearing,  so 
different  from  anything  she  had  previously  seen  in  him, 
and — by  the  way,  that  was  odd ; she  had  not  noticed  it 
before,  but  undoubtedly  he  was  very  much  improved  in 
appearance  and  manner ; he  had  lost  the  rustic  awkward- 
ness and  bashfulness  which  had  previously  rendered  him. 


340 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


somewhat  ungainly,  and  had  acquired  confidence  and 
case.  She  had  heard  this  before ; her  husband  had  men- 
tioned it  to  her  as  having  been  told  him  by  Mr.  Teesdale, 
wffio  kept  the  keenest  outlook  on  Joyce  and  his  doings,, 
and  who  regarded  him  as  a very  dangerous  opponent; 
she  had  heard  this  before,  but  she  had  paid  but  little 
attention  to  it,  not  thinking  that  she  should  so  soon  have 
an  opportunity  of  personally  verifying  the  assertion.  She 
acknowledged  it  now  ; saw  that  it  was  exactly  the  manner 
which  would  prove  wonderfully  winning  among  the 
electors,  who  were  neither  to  be  awed  by  distant  de- 
meanour nor  to  be  cajoled  by  excessive  familiarity.  In 
Walter  Joyce’s  pleasant  bearing  and  cheery  way  there 
wras  a something  which  seemed  to  say,  “ I am  of  you,  and 
understand  you,  although  I may  have  had,  perhaps,  a few 
more  brains  and  a little  better  education ; 55  and  there  was 
nothing  that  more  quickly  got  to  the  hearts  of  the  Brock- 
soppians  than  the  feeling  that  they  were  about  to  elect  one 
of  themselves.  This  was  a chord  which  Mr.  Creswell  could 
never  touch,  although  he  had  every  claim  to  do,  so,  and 
although  Mr.  Gould  had  had  thousands  of  a little  pam- 
phlet struck  off  and  circulated  among  the  voters — a little 
pamphlet  supposed  to  be  Mr.  Ores  well’s  biography, 
adorned  with  woodcuts  borrowed  from  some  previous  pub- 
lication, the  first  of  which  represented  Mr.  Creswell  as  a 
cabin-boy,  about  to  receive  the  punishment  of  the  “ colt  ” 
from  the  mate — he  had  scarcely  been  on  board  ship  during 
his  life — while  the  last  -showed  him,  and  Mrs.  Creswell, 
with  short  waist,  long  train,  and  high  ostrich  feathers  in 
her  head  (supposed  to  have  been  originally  the  vera 
effigies  of  some  lady  mayoress  in  George  the  Third’s  time), 
receiving  the  cream  of  the  aristocracy  in  a gilded  saloon. 
But  the  people  declined  to  believe  in  the  biography, 
which,  indeed,  did  rather  more  harm  than  good,  and  cast 
doubt  on  the  real  history  of  Mr.  Creswell’s  self-manufac- 
ture, than  which,  in  its  way,  nothing  could  be  more 
creditable. 


BAFFLED. 


341 


Before  Marian  had  reached  her  home  she  had  revolved 
all  these  things  very  carefully  in  her  mind,  and  the  result 
which  she  arrived  at  was,  that  as  it  was  impossible  to 
purchase  peace,  and  as  the  fight  must  now  be  fought  out 
at  all  hazards,  the  only  way — not  indeed  to  insure  success, 
for  that  was  out  of  the  question,  but  to  stand  a good 
chance  for  it — was  to  pay  fresh  and  unremitting  attention 
to  the  canvassing,  and,  above  all,  to  try  personally  to 
enlist  the  sympathies  of  the  voters,  not  leaving  it,  as  in 
Woolgreaves  it  had  hitherto  been  done,  to  Mr.  Teesdale 
and  his  emissaries.  With  all  her  belief  in  money,  Marian 
had  a faith  in  position,  which,  though  lately  born,  was 
springing  up  apace,  and  she  felt  that  Squire  Creswell 
might  yet  win  many  a vote  which  would  be  given  to  him 
out  of  respect  to  his  status  in  the  county,  if  he  would  only 
exert  himself  to  obtain  it. 

Full  of  this  idea,  she  drove  through  the  lodge-gates  at 
Woolgreaves,  a ny  little  qualms  or  heart-sinkings  which 
she  might  have  recently  felt  disappearing  entirely  as  she 
looked  round  upon  the  trim  gardens,  trim  even  in  those 
first  days  of  winter,  and  upon  the  long  line  of  conserva- 
tories which  had  recently  risen  under  her  direction,  as  the 
hall-doors  opened  at  her  approach,  and  as  she  stepped  out 
of  her  pony-carriage,  the  mistress  of  that  handsome 
mansion,  warmed  and  flower-scented  and  luxurious.  Her 
pleasure  was  a little  dashed  when  she  found  that  Mr. 
Creswell  had  been  carried  off  into  Brocksopp  by  Mr.  Gould, 
who  had  come  down  unexpectedly  from  London,  and  that 
Mr.  Benthall  was  seated  in  the  drawing-room  with  Maude 
and  Gertrude,  evidently  intending  to  remain  to  luncheon, 
if  he  were  invited.  But  she  rallied  in  a moment,  and 
accorded  the  invitation  graciously,  and  did  the  honours  of 
the  luncheon  table  with  all  proper  hospitality.  Once  or 
twice  she  winced  a little  at  the  obvious  understanding 
between  Gertrude  and  Mr.  Benthall ; a state  of  things  for 
which,  though  to  some  extent  prepared,  she  was  by  no 
means  particularly  grateful.  It  was  not  entirely  new  to 


342 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


her,  this  flirtation;  she  had  noticed  something  of  it  a 
while  ago,  and  her  husband  had  made  it  the  subject  of  one 
of  his  mild  little  jokes  to  her ; but  she  had  matters  of 
greater  import  to  attend  to  just  then,  and  would  see  how 
it  should  be  treated  when  the  election  was  over. 

After  luncheon  Marian,  recollecting  the  determination 
she  had  arrived  at  in  her  homeward  drive,  was  minded  to 
put  it  in  force  at  once,  and  accordingly  said  to  her  visitor, 
“ Are  you  going  back  to  the  school,  Mr.  Benthall,  or  do 
you  make  holiday  this  afternoon  ? ” 

“ Fortunately,  my  dear  Mrs.  Creswell,”  said  Mr.  Bent- 
hall,  with  a slight  sign  of  that  indolence  which  the  con- 
sumption of  an  excellent  luncheon  superinduces  in  a man 
of  full  habit — “ fortunately  the  law  has  done  that  for  me  ! 
Wednesdays  and  Saturdays  are  half-holidays  by — well,  I 
don’t  know  exactly  by  Act  of  Parliament,  but  at  all  events 
by  Helmingham  rule  and  system;  so,  to-day  being  Satur- 
day, I am  absolved  from  further  work.  To  my  infinite 
satisfaction,  I confess.” 

“I  am  glad  of  that,”  said  Marian;  “for  it  will  leave 
you  free  to  accept  my  proposition.  I have  some  business 
in  Brocksopp,  and  I want  an  escort.  Will  you  come?” 

“I  shall  be  delighted,”  replied  Mr.  Benthall,  “though 
I shall  keep  up  my  unfortunate  character  for  plain  speak- 
ing by  asking  you  not  to  dawdle  too  long  in  the  shops  ! I 
do  get  so  horridly  impatient  while  ladies  are  turning  over 
a counterful  of  goods  ! ” 

“ My  dear  Mr.  Benthall,  pray  spare  yourself  any  such 
dreadful  anticipations ! The  business  that  takes  me  into 
Brocksopp  is  of  a widely  different  character.” 

“And  that  is ” 

“ How  can  you  ask  at  such  a crisis?  ” said  Marian,  in  a 
mock  heroic  style,  for  her  spirits  always  rose  at  the  pro- 
spect of  action.  “ In  what  business  should  a wife  be 
engaged  at  such  a time  but  her  husband’s  ? My  business- 
of  course  is — electioneering ! ” 

“ Electioneering — you  ? ” 


BAFFLED. 


343 


“ Well,  canvassing ; you  know  perfectly  well  what  I 
mean ! 55 

“ And  you  want  me  to  go  with  you  ? 5 5 

“ Why  not  ? Mr.  Benthall,  what  on  earth  is  all  this 
questioning  about  ? 55 

“My  dear  Mrs.  Creswell,  do  you  not  know  that  it  is 
impossible  for  me  to  go  with  you  on  the  expedition  you 
propose  ? 55 

“ No,  I do  not  know  it ! Why  is  it  impossible  ? ” 

“ Simply  because  in  politics  I happen  to  be  diametri- 
cally opposed  to  Mr.  Creswell.  My  sympathies  are  strongly 
Liberal.55 

“ Then,  in  the  present  election  your  intention  is  to  vote 
against  Mr.  Creswell,  and  for  his  opponent  ? 55 

“ Undoubtedly.  Is  this  the  first  time  you  have  heard 
this?55 

“ Most  unquestionably  ! Who  should  have  told  me  ? 55 

“ Mr.  Creswell ! Directly  it  was  known  that  he  would 
come  forward  in  the  Conservative  interest,  I told  him  my 
views  ! 55 

“ He  did  not  mention  the  circumstance  to  me,55  said 
Marian ; then  added,  after  a moment,  “ I never  asked  him 
about  you,  to  be  sure  ! I had  no  idea  that  there  was  the 
least  doubt  of  the  way  in  which  you  intended  to  vote.55 

There  was  a dead  silence  for  a few  minutes  after  this, 
a pause  during  which  Gertrude  Creswell  took  advantage 
of  Marian’s  abstraction  to  catch  Maude’s  eye,  and  to  shape 
her  mouth  into  the  silent  expression  of  the  word  “ Eow  55 
— delivered  ‘three  times  with  great  solemnity.  At  last 
Marian  looked  up  and  said,  with  an  evidently  forced 
smile,  “ Well,  then,  I must  be  content  to  shrug  my 
shoulders,  and  submit  to  these  dreadful  politics  so  far 
dividing  us  that  I must  give  up  all  idea  of  your  ac- 
companying me  into  Brocksopp,  Mr.  Benthall ; but  I shall 
be  obliged  if  you  will  give  me  five  minutes’  conversation — 
I will  not  detain  you  longer — in  the  library.55 

Mr.  Benthall,  muttering  that  he  should  be  delighted, 


344 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


rose  from  his  chair  and  opened  the  door  for  his  hostess  to 
pass  out ; before  he  followed  her  he  turned  round  to  glance 
at  the  girls,  and  again  Gertrude’s  fresh  rosy  lips  pressed 
themselves  together  and  then  opened  for  the  silent 
expression  of  the  word  “ Row,”  but  he  took  no  notice  of 
this  cabalistic  sign  beyond  nodding  his  head  in  a re- 
assuring manner,  and  then  followed  Mrs.  Creswell  to  the 
library. 

“ Pray  be  seated,  Mr.  Benthall,”  said  Marian,  dropping 
into  a chair  at  the  writing-table,  and  commencing  to 
sketch  vaguely  on  the  blotting-book  with  a dry  pen; 
“ the  news  you  told  me  just  now  has  come  upon  me  quite 
unexpectedly.  I had  no  idea — looking  at  your  intimacy 
in  this  house — intimacy  which,  as  far  as  I know,  has 
continued  uninterruptedly  to  the  present  moment — no  idea 
that  you  could  have  been  going  to  act  against  us  at  so 
serious  a crisis  as  the  present.” 

Mr.  Benthall  did  not  like  Mrs.  Creswell,  but  he  was  a 
man  of  the  world,  and  he  could  not  avoid  admiring  the 
delicious  insolence  of  the  tone  of  voice  which  lent 
additional  relish  to  the  insolence  of  the  statement,  that  he 
had  continued  to  avail  himself  of  their  hospitality,  while 
intending  to  requite  it  with  opposition.  He  merely  said, 
however,  “ The  fault  is  not  mine,  Mrs.  Creswell,  as  I have 
before  said;  immediately  on  the  announcement  of  the 
contest,  and  of  Mr.  Creswell’s  coming  forward  as  the 
Conservative  candidate,  I went  straight  to  him  and  told 
him  I was  not  a free  agent  in  the  matter.  I labour  under 
the  misfortune — and  it  is  one  for  which  I know  I shall 
receive  no  sympathy  in  this  part  of  the  country,  for 
people,  however  good-hearted  they  may  be,  cannot  pity 
where  they  cannot  understand — I labour  under  the  mis- 
fortune of  coming  of  an  old  family,  having  had  people 
before  me  who  for  years  and  years  have  held  to  Liberal 
opinions  in  fair  weather  and  foul  weather,  now  profiting 
by  it,  now  losing  most  confoundedly,  but  never  veering  a 
hair’s  breadth  for  an  instant.  In  those  opinions  I was 


BAFFLED. 


345 


brought  up,  and  in  those  opinions  I shall  die ; they  may 
be  wrong,  I don’t  say  they  are  not ; I’ve  not  much  time, 
or  opportunity,  or  inclination,  for  the  matter  of  that,  for 
going  very  deeply  into  the  question.  I’ve  taken  it  for 
granted,  on  the  strength  of  the  recommendation  of  wiser 
heads  than  mine  ; more  than  all,  on  the  fact  of  their  being 
the  family  opinions,  held  by  the  family  time  out  of  mind. 
I’m  excessively  sorry  that  in  this  instance  those  opinions 
clash  with  those  held  by  a gentleman  who  is  so  thoroughly 
deserving  of  all  respect  as  Mr.  Creswell,  and  from  whom  I 
have  received  so  many  proofs  of  friendship  and  kindness. 
Just  now  it  is  especially  provoking  for  me  to  be  thrown 
into  antagonism  to  him  in  any  way,  because — however, 
that’s  neither  here  nor  there.  I dare  say  I shall  have  to 
run  counter  to  several  of  my  friends  hereabouts,  but  there 
is  no  one  the  opposition  to  whom  will  concern  me  so  much 
as  Mr.  Creswell.  However,  as  I’ve  said  before,  it  is  a 
question  of  sticking  to  the  family  principles,  and  in  one 
sense  to  the  family  honour,  and — so  there’s  nothing  else  to 
be  done.” 

Marian  sat  quietly  for  a minute,  before  she  said,  “ Not 
having  had  the  honour  of  belonging  to  an  old  family  so 
extensively  stocked  with  traditions,  not1  even  having 
married  into  one,  I am  perhaps  scarcely  able  to  understand 
your  position,  Mr.  Benthall.  But  it  occurs  to  me  that 
‘progress  ’ is  a word  which  I have  heard  not  unfrequently 
mentioned  in  connection  with  the  principles  for  the  support 
of  which  you  seemed  prepared  to  go  to  the  stake,  and  it 
seems  to  me  an  impossible  word  to  be  used  by  those  who 
maintain  a set  of  political  opinions  simply  because  they 
received  them  from  their  ancestors.” 

“ Oh,  of  course  it  is  not  merely  that ! Of  course  I 
myself  hold  and  believe  in  them  ! ” 

“ Sufficiently  to  let  that  belief  influence  your  actions 
at  a rather  important  period  of  your  life  ? See  here,  Mr. 
Benthall ; it  happens  to  be  my  wish,  my  very  strong  wish, 
that  my  husband  should  be  returned  for  Brocksopp  at  this 


346 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


election.  I do  not  hide  from  myself  that  his  return  is  by 
no  means  certain,  that  it  is  necessary  that  every  vote  should 
be  secured.  Now,  there  are  certain  farmers,  holding  land 
in  connection  with  the  charity  under  which  the  school  was 
founded — there  is  no  intended  harm  in  my  use  of  tho 
word,  for  my  father  was  paid  out  of  it  as  well  as  you, 
remember — farmers  who,  holding  the  charity  land,  look  to 
the  master  of  the  school,  with  an  odd  kind  of  loyalty,  as 
their  head,  and,  in  such  matters  as  an  election,  would,  I 
imagine,  come  to  him  for  advice  how  to  act.  Am  I 
right  ? ” 

“ Perfectly  right.5’ 

“ You  know  this  by  experience  ? They  have  been  to 
you?” 

“Some  of  them  waited  on  me  at  the  school-house 
several  days  ago ! ” 

“And  you  made  them  pledge  themselves  to  support 
Mr. — Mr.  Joyce?” 

“ No,  Mrs.  Creswell,  I am  a schoolmaster  and  a 
clergyman,  not  an  electioneering  agent.  I explained  to 
them  to  the  best  of  my  power  the  views  taken  by  each 
party  on  the  great  question  of  the  day,  and,  when  asked  a 
direct  question  as  to  how  I should  myself  vote,  I answered 
it— that  was  all.” 

“ All,  indeed  ! It  is  sufficient  to  show  me  that  these 
unthinking  people  will  follow  you  to  the  polling-booth 
like  sheep ! However,  to  return  to  what  I was  about  to 
say  when  I thought  of  these  farmers ; is  your  belief  in 
your  attachment  to  these  principles  so  strong  as  to  allow 
them  to  influence  your  actions  at  what  may  be  an  im- 
portant period  of  your  life?  I know  the  Helmingham 
school-salary,  Mr.  Benthall ; I know  the  life — Heaven 
knows  I ought,  after  all  the  years  of  its  weariness  and  its 
drudgery  which  I witnessed.  You  are  scarcely  in  your 
proper  place,  I think ! I can  picture  you  to  myself  in 
a pleasant  rectory  in  a southern  or  western  county,  with  a 
charming  wife  by  your  side ! ” 


BAFFLED. 


347 


“ A most  delightful  idea,  Mrs.  Creswell,  but  one  im- 
possible of  realisation  in  my  case,  I am  afraid  !” 

“ By  no  means  so  impossible  as  you  seem  to  imagine. 

I have  only  to  say  one  word  to  my  husband,  and ” 

“ My  dear  Mrs.  Creswell,”  said  Mr.  Benthall,  rising, 
and  laying  his  hand  lightly  on  her  arm,  “ pray  excuse  my 
interrupting  you ; but  I am  sure  you  don’t  know  what 
you  are  saying  or  doing  ! Ladies  have  no  idea  of  this  kind 
of  thing  ; they  don’t  understand  it,  and  we  cannot  explain. 
I can  only  say  that  if  any  man  had — well,  I should  not 
have  hesitated  a moment  in  knocking  him  down  ! ” And 
Mr.  Benthall,  whose  manner  was  disturbed,  whose  voice 
trembled,  and  whose  face  was  very  much  flushed,  was 
making  rapidly  to  the  door,  when  Marian  called  him 
back. 

“ I am  sorry,”  she  said,  very  calmly,  “ that  our  last 
interview  should  have  been  so  disagreeable.  You  will 
understand  that,  under  present  circumstances,  your  visits 
here,  and  your  acquaintance  with  any  of  the  inmates  of 
this  house,  must  cease.” 

Mr.  Benthall  looked  as  though  about  to  speak,  but  he 
merely  bowed  and  left  the  room.  When  the  door  closed 
behind  him,  Marian  sank  down  into  her  qhair,  and  burst 
into  a flood  of  bitter  tears.  It  was  the  second  repulse  she 
had  met  with  that  day,  and  she  had  not  been  accustomed 
to  repulses,  of  late. 


348 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

AN  INCOMPLETE  VICTORY. 

Mr.  Benthall’s  neat  cob  was  not  standing  in  a loose  box 
in  tlie  Wool  greaves  stable,  as  was  its  usual  wont  when  its 
master  had  paid  a visit  to  that  hospitable  mansion.  On 
this  occasion  the  schoolmaster  had  walked  over  from  Hel- 
rningham,  and,  though  by  nature  an  indolent  man,  Mr. 
Bentliall  was  exceedingly  pleased  at  the  prospect  of  the 
walk  before  him  on  emerging  from  Woolgreaves  after  his 
interview  in  the  library  with  Mrs.  Creswell.  He  felt  that 
he  required  a vent  for  the  excitement  under  which  he  was 
labouring,  a vent  which  could  only  be  found  in  sharp  and 
prolonged  exercise.  The  truth  was  that  he  was  very 
much  excited  and  very  angry  indeed.  “It  is  a very 
charitable  way  of  looking  at  it — a more  than  charitable 
way,”  he  muttered  to  himself  as  he  strode  over  the  ground, 
“ to  fancy  that  Mrs.  Creswell  was  ignorant  of  what  she 
was  doing  ; did  not  know  that  she  was  offering  me  a bribe 
to  vote  for  her  husband,  and  to  influence  the  farmers  on 
this  estate  to  do  the  same.  She  knew  it  well  enough ; she 
is  by  far  too  clever  a woman  not  to  understand  all  about 
it.  And  if  she  would  try  that  game  on  with  us,  who  hold 
a comparatively  superior  position,  what  won’t  she  do  with 
those  lower  on  the  electoral  roll?  Clever  woman  too, 
thorough  woman  of  the  world.  I wonder  at  her  forgetting 
herself,  and  showing  her  hand  so  completely.  How  ad- 
mirably she  emphasised  the  ‘ any  of  the  inmates  ’ in  that 
sentence  when  she  gave  me  my  conge  ! it  was  really 
remarkably  well  done ! When  I tell  Gertrude  this,  it  will 
show  her  the  real  facts  at  once.  She  has  had  a firm  im- 
pression that,  up  to  the  present  time;,  ‘ madam,’  as  she  calls 
Mrs.  CresTvell,  has  had  no  idea  as  to  the  state  of  the  case 


AN  INCOMPLETE  VICTORY. 


349 


between  ns ; bnt  I don’t  think  even  incredulous  Gertrude 
would  have  much  doubt  of  it  if  she  had  been  present,  and 
caught  the  expression  of  Mrs.  Creswell’s  face  as  she  forbade 
my  communication  with  c any  ’ of  the  inmates  of  herhouse. 
Neither  look  nor  tone  admitted  of  the  smallest  ambiguity, 
and  I took  care  to  appreciate  both.  Something  must  be 
done  to  circumvent  our  young  friend  the  hostess  of  Wool- 
greaves.” 

Thus  soliloquised  the  Keverend  George  Benthall  as  he 
strode  across  the  bleak  barren  fields,  chopping  away  with 
his  stick  at  the  thin  naked  hedges  as  he  passed  them, 
pushing  his  hat  back  from  his  brow,  and  uttering  many 
sounds  which  were  at  least  impatient,  not  to  say  un- 
clerical, as  he  progressed.  After  his  dinner,  feeling  that 
this  was  an  exceptional  kind  of  evening,  and  one  which 
must  be  exceptionally  treated,  he  went  down  to  his  cellar, 
brought  therefrom  a bottle  of  excellent  Burgundy,  lit  up 
his  favourite  pipe,  placed  his  feet  on  the  fender,  and  pre- 
pared himself  for  a careful  review  of  the  occurrences  of  the 
day.  On  the  whole,  he  was  satisfied.  It  may  seem  strange 
that  a man,  indolent,  uncaring  about  most  things,  and 
certainly  desirous  of  the  opportunity  for  the  acquisition 
of  worldly  goods,  should  have  refused  the  chance  of  such  a 
position  as  Marian  hinted  he  might  aspire  to — a position 
which  her  own  keen  natural  instinct  and  worldly  knowledge 
suggested  to  her  as  the  very  one  which  he  would  most 
covet — but  it  must  be  remembered  that  Mr.  Benthall  was 
a man  of  birth  and  family,  bound  to  indorse  the  family 
politics  in  his  own  person,  and  likely  to  shrink  from  the 
merest  suggestion  of  a bribe  as  the  highest  insult  and 
indignity  that  could  possibly  be  offered  him.  One  of 
Marian’s  hints  went  home ; when  she  told  him  that  all 
acquaintance  between  him  and  any  member  of  the  Wool- 
greaves  household  must  cease,  the  bolt  penetrated.  The 
easy  attention  which  Mr.  Benthall  had  just  paid  to  the 
rather  odd,  but  decidedly  amusing,  niece  of  rich  Squire 
Creswell  had  developed  into  a great  liking,  which  had 


350 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


grown  into  a passion  deeper  and  stronger  than  this  calm, 
placid — well,  not  to  disguise  the  fact,  selfish — clergyman 
had  ever  imagined  he  could  have  experienced ; and 
although  in  his  homeward  walk  he  was  pleased  to  smile 
in  his  complimentary  fashion  at  Mrs.  C res  well’s  skill  in 
aiming  the  arrow,  when  he  turned  the  whole  matter  over 
in  his  mind  after  dinner,  he  was  compelled  to  allow  that 
it  was  exceedingly  unpleasant,  and  that  he  did  not  see  how 
affairs  between  himself  and  Gertrude  were  to  be  carried 
out  to  a happy  issue  without  bringing  matters  to  a crisis. 
For  this  crisis  long-headed  and  calculating  Mr.  Benthall 
had  been  for  some  time  prepared — that  is  to  say,  he  had 
long  entertained  the  idea  that  after  a time  Mrs.  Creswell, 
getting  tired  of  the  alternations  in  the  state  of  armed 
neutrality  or  actual  warfare,  in  one  or  other  of  which  she 
always  lived  with  the  young  ladies,  and  feeling  towards 
them  as  Haman  felt  towards  Mordecai,  with  the  aggrava- 
tion of  their  all  being  women,  would  certainly  do  her  best 
towards  getting  them  removed  from  Woolgreaves ; and 
doing  her  best  meant,  when  Mr.  Creswell  was  the  person 
to  be  acted  upon,  the  accomplishment  of  her  designs.  But 
Mr.  Benthall  felt  tolerably  certain,  from  his  knowledge  of 
Mr.  Creswell,  and  the  conversation  in  some  degree  bearing 
on  the  subject  which  they  had  had  together,  that  though  the 
old  gentleman  would  not  be  able  to  withstand,  nor  indeed 
would  for  a moment  attempt  to  fight  against  the  pressure 
which  would  be  put  upon  him  by  his  wife  for  the  accom- 
plishment of  her  purpose,  even  though  that  preference 
were  to  the  disadvantage  of  his  blood  relations,  that  result 
once  achieved,  he  would  do  everything  in  his  power  to 
insure  the  girls’  future  comfort,  and  would  not  abate  one 
jot  of  the  liberal  pecuniary  allowance  which  he  had  always 
intended  for  them  on  the  occasion  of  their  marriage.  It 
was  very  comforting  to  Mr.  Benthall,  after  due  delibera- 
tion, to  come  to  this  conclusion ; for  though  he  was  very 
much  attached  to  Gertrude  Creswell,  and  though  of  late  he 
had  begun  to  think  she  was  so  indispensable  to  his  future 


AN  INCOMPLETE  VICTORY. 


351 


happiness  that  he  could  almost  have  married  her  without 
any  dowry,  yet  it  was  pleasant  to  think  that — well,  that 
she  would  not  only  make  him  a charming  wife,  but  bring 
a very  handsome  increase  to  his  income — when  the  storm 
arrived. 

The  storm  arrived  sooner  than  Mr.  Benthall  antici- 
pated : it  must  have  been  brewing  while  he  was  seated 
with  his  feet  on  the  fender,  enjoying  that  special  bottle 
of  Burgundy  and  that  favourite  pipe.  As  he  sat  at  his 
breakfast  he  received  a note  from  Gertrude,  which  said, 
“ There  has  been  the  most  terrible  fuss  here  this  evening  ! 
I don’t  know  what  you  and  madam  can  have  fought  about 
during  that  dreadfully  solemn  interview  in  the  library  to 
which  she  invited  you,  but  she  is  furious  against  you  ! She 
and  uncle  were  closeted  together  for  nearly  an  hour  after 
he  came  in  from  Brocksopp ; and  when  they  joined  us  in 
the  dining-room  his  eyes  were  quite  red,  and  I’m  sure  he 
had  been  crying.  Poor  old  darling ! isn’t  it  a shame  for 
that — never  mind.  After  dinner,  just  as  we  were  about 
to  run  off  as  usual,  madam  said  she  wanted  to  speak  to 
us,  and  marched  us  off  to  the  drawing-room.  When  we 
got  there  she  harangued  us,  and  told  us  it  was  only  right 
we  should  know  that  you  had  behaved  in  a most  trea- 
cherous and  unfriendly  manner  towards  uncle,  and  that 
your  conduct  had  been  so  base  that  she  had  been  com- 
pelled to  forbid  you  the  house.  I was  going  to  speak  at 
this,  but  Maude  dashed  in,  and  said  she  did  not  believe  a 
word  of  it,  and  that  it  was  all  madam’s  concoction,  and 
that  you  were  a gentleman,  and  I don’t  know  what — you 
understand,  all  sorts  of  nice  things  about  you  ! And  then 
madam  said  you  had  thrown  over  uncle,  to  whom  you 
owed  such  a debt  of  gratitude — what  for,  goodness  knows  ! 
— and  were  going  to  vote  for  uncle’s  opponent,  Mr.  J oyce, 
who But  then  I dashed  in,  and  I said  that,  consider- 

ing what  people  said  about  her  and  Mr.  Joyce,  and  tho 
engagement  that  had  existed  between  them,  she  ought 
not  to  say  anything  against  him.  And  Maude  tried  to 


352 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


stop  me ; but  my  blood  was  up,  and  I would  go  on,  and 
I said  all  kinds  of  things ; and  madam  grew  very  pale, 
and  said  that,  though  she  was  disposed  to  make  every 
allowance  for  me,  considering  the  infatuation  I was 
labouring  under — that’s  what  she  said,  infatuation  I was* 
labouring  under — she  could  not  put  up  with  being  in- 
sulted in  her  own  house,  and  she  should  appeal  to  uncle. 
So  she  went  away,  and  presently  she  and  uncle  came 
back  together,  and  he  said  he  was  deeply  grieved  and  all 
that — poor  old  dear,  he  looked  awful — but  he  could  not 
have  his  wife  treated  with  disrespect — disrespect,  indeed  ! 
— and  he  thought  that  the  best  thing  that  could  be  done 
would  be  for  us  to  go  away  for  a time,  at  least ; only  for 
a time,  the  dear  old  man  said,  trying  to  look  cheerful ; 
for  if  he  succeeded  in  this  election  he  and  Mrs.  Creswell 
would  necessarily  be  for  several  months  in  London,  during 
which  we  could  come  back  to  Wool  greaves ; but  for  a 
time,  and  if  we  would  only  settle  where  we  would  go, 
Parker,  our  maid,  who  is  a most  staid  and  respectable 
person,  would  go  with  us,  and  all  could  be  arranged. 
I think  Maude  was  going  to  fly  out  again ; but  a look  at 
the  dear  old  man’s  woebegone  face  stopped  her,  and  she 
was  silent.  So  it’s  decided  we’re  to  go  somewhere  out  of 
this.  But  is  it  riot  an  awful  nuisance,  George  ? What 
shall  we  do  ? Where  shall  we  go  ? It  will  be  a relief  to 
get  rid  of  madam  for  a time,  and  out  of  the  reach  of  her 
eyes  and  her  tongue ; but  doesn’t  it  seem  very  horrible 
altogether  ? ” 

“ Horrible  altogether ! It  does,  indeed,  seem  very 
horrible  altogether,”  said  Mr.  Benthall  to  himself,  as  he 
finished  reading  this  epistle,  and  laid  it  down  on  the 
breakfast-table  before  him.  “What  on  earth  is  to  be 
done  ? This  old  man  seems  perfectly  besotted,  while  this 
very  strong-minded  young  woman,  his  wife,  has  com- 
pletely gleaned  the  brains  out  of  his  head  and  the  kind- 
liness out  of  his  heart.  What  can  he  be  thinking  about, 
to  imagine  that  these  two  girls  are  to  take  some  lodging 


AN  INCOMPLETE  VICTORY. 


353 


and  form  some  course  for  themselves  ? Why,  the  thing  is 
monstrous  and  impossible ! They  would  have  to  live  in 
seclusion ; it  would  be  impossible  for  any  man  ever  to 
call  upon  them ; and  oh,  it  won’t  do  at  all,  won’t  do  at 
all ! But  what’s  to  be  done  ? I can’t  interfere  in  the 
matter,  and  I know  no  one  with  whom  I could  consult. 
Yes,  by  George  ! Joyce,  our  candidate,  Mr.  Joyce  ; he’s 
a clear-headed  fellow,  and  one  who,  I should  think,  if 
Mrs.  Covey’s  story  be  correct,  would  not  object  to  put  a 
spoke  in  Mrs.  Creswell’s  wheel.  I’ll  go  and  see  him. 
Perhaps  he  can  help  me  in  this  fix.” 

No  sooner  said  than  done.  The  young  gentlemen  on 
the  foundation  and  the  head-master’s  boarders  had  that 
morning  to  make  shift  with  the  teaching  of  the  ushers, 
while  the  neat  cob  was  taken  from  his  stable  at  an  un- 
wonted hour,  and  cantered  down  to  Brocksopp.  Mr.  Joyce 
was  not  at  his  head-quarters,  he  was  out  canvassing ; so 
the  cob  was  put  up,  and  Mr.  Bentliall  started  on  a search- 
expedition  through  the  town.  After  some  little  time  he 
came  up  with  the  Liberal  candidate,  with  whom  he  had 
already  struck  up  a pleasant  acquaintance,  and  begged  a 
few  minutes  of  his  time.  The  request  was  granted. 
They  adjourned  to  Joyce’s  private  sitting-room  at  the  inn, 
and  there  Mr.  Benthall  laid  the  whole  story  before  him, 
showing  in  detail  Marian’s  machinations  against  the  girls, 
and  pointing  out  the  final  piece  of  strategy  by  which  she 
had  induced  her  husband  to  give  them  the  rout,  and  tell 
them  they  could  no  longer  be  inmates  of  his  house.  Joyce 
was  very  much  astonished ; for  although  the  film  had 
gradually  been  withdrawn  from  his  eyes  since  the  day  of 
the  receipt  of  Marian’s  letter,  he  had  no  idea  of  the  depth 
of  her  degradation.  That  she  could  endeavour  to  win 
him  from  the  tournament  now  he  stood  a good  chance  of 
victory ; that  she  would  even  endeavour  to  bribe  a man 
like  Benthall,  who  was  sufficiently  venal,  Walter  thought, 
who  had  his  price,  like  most  men,  but  who  had  not  been 
properly  “ got  at,”  he  could  understand ; but  that  she 

2 A 


354 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


could  endeavour  to  attempt  to  wreak  her  vengeance  on 
two  unoffending  girls,  simply  because  they  were  remotely 
connected  with  one  of  the  causes  of  her  annoyance,  was 
beyond  his  comprehension.  He  saw,  however,  at  once, 
that  the  young  ladies  were  delicately  situated ; and, 
partly  from  an  innate  feeling  of  gallantry,  partly  with  a 
desire  to  oblige  Benthall,  who  had  proved  himself  very 
loyal  in  the  cause,  and  not  without  a desire  to  thwart 
what  was  evidently  a pet  scheme  with  Mrs.  Gres  well,  he 
took  up  the  question  with  alacrity. 

“ You’re  quite  right,”  he  said,  after  a little  considera- 
tion, “in  saying  that  it  would  be  impossible  that  these 
two  young  ladies  could  go  away  and  live  by  themselves, 
or  rather  with  their  maid.  I know  nothing  of  them, 
beyond  seeing  them  a long  time  ago.  I should  not  even 
recognise  them  were  we  to  meet  now;  but  it  is  evident 
that  by  birth  and  education  they  are  ladies,  and  they  must 
not  be  thrown  on  the  world,  to  rough  it  in  the  manner 
proposed  by  their  weak  uncle,  at  the  instigation  of  his 
charming  wife.  The  question  is,  what  is  to  be  vd<me  with 
them?  Neither  you  nor  I,  even  if  we  had  the  power  and 
will,  dare  offer  them  any  hospitality,  miserable  bachelors 
as  we  are.  The  laws  of  etiquette  forbid  that;  and  we 
should  have  Mrs.  Grundy,  egged  on  by  Mrs.  Creswell, 
calling  us  over  the  coals,  and  bringing  us  to  book  very 
speedily.  It  is  clear  that  in  their  position  the  best  thing 
for  them  would  be  to  be  received  by  some  lady  relative  of 
their  own,  or  in  default  of  that,  by  some  one  whose  name 
and  character  would  be  a complete  answer  to  anything 
which  our  friends  Mrs.  Grundy  or  Mrs.  Creswell  might 
choose  to  say  about  them.  Have  they  no  such  female 
relations  ? No ! I fear  then  that,  for  their  own  sakes, 
the  best  thing  we  can  do  is  not  to  interfere  in  the  matter. 
It  is  very  hard  for  you,  I can  see  clearly,  as  you  will  be 
undoubtedly  deterred  from  paying  any  visits  to  Miss 

Gertrude  until Stay,  I’ve  an  idea  : it’s  come  upon  me 

so  suddenly  that  it  has  almost  taken  my  breath  away,  and 


AN  INCOMPLETE  VICTORY. 


355 


I don’t  know  whether  I dare  attempt  to  carry  it  out. 
Wait,  and  let  me  think  it  over.” 

The  idea  that  had  occurred  to  Joyce  was,  to  lay  the 
state  of  affairs  before  Lady  Caroline  Mansergh,  and  ask 
her  advice  and  assistance  in  the  matter.  He  felt  certain 
that  she  would  act  with  promptitude,  and  at  the  same 
time  with  great  discretion.  Her  knowledge  of  the  world 
would  tell  her  exactly  what  was  best  to  be  done  under  the 
circumstances  ; while  the  high  position  which  she  held  in 
society,  and  that  not  alone  by  reason  of  her  rank,  would 
effectually  silence  any  malicious  whisperings  and  critical 
comments  which  would  inevitably  be  made  on  the  pro- 
ceedings of  a less-favoured  personage.  The  question  was, 
dare  he  ask  her  to  interfere  in  the  matter?  He  had  no 
claim  on  her,  he  knew ; but  she  had  always  shown  him 
such  great  favour,  that  he  thought  he  might  urge  his 
request  without  offence.  Even  in  the  last  letter  which  he 
had  received  from  her,  just  before  he  started  on  his  election 
campaign,  she  reminded  him  of  his  promise  to  allow  her 
to  be  of  service  to  him  in  any  possible  way,  and  never  to 
permit  any  idea  of  the  magnitude  or  difficulty  of  the  task 
to  be  undertaken  to  influence  him  against  asking  her  to  do 
it.  Yes,  he  felt  sure  that  Lady  Caroline  would  be  of 
material  assistance  to  him  in  this  emergency ; the  only 
question  was,  was  he  not  wasting  his  resources?  These 
young  ladies  were  nothing  to  him  ; to  him  it  was  a matter 
of  no  moment  whether  they  remained  at  Wool  greaves  or 
were  hunted  out  to  genteel  lodgings.  Stay,  though.  To 
get  rid  of  them  from  their  uncle’s  house,  to  remove  them 
from  her  presence,  in  which  they  were  constantly  remind- 
ing her  of  bygone  times,  had,  according  to  Mr.  Benthall’s 
story,  been  Marian  Creswell’s  fixed  intention  from  the 
moment  of  her  marriage.  Were  they  to  leave  now,  out- 
cast and  humbled,  she  would  have  gained  a perfect 
victory ; whereas  if  they  were  received  under  the  cliape- 
ronage  of  a person  in  the  position  of  Lady  Caroline 
Mansergh,  it  would  be  anything  but  a degradation  of 


356 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


station  for  the  young  ladies,  and  a decided  blow  for  Mrs. 
Creswell.  That  thought  decided  him;  he  would  invoke 
Lady  Caroline’s  aid  at  once. 

“ Well,”  said  he,  after  a few  minutes’  pause,  when  he 
had  come  to  this  determination,  “you  have  waited,  and 
I have  thought  it  over ” 

“ And  the  result  is ?”  asked  Mr.  Benthall. 

“ That  I shall  be  bold,  and  act  upon  the  idea  which 
has  just  occurred  to  me,  and  which  is  briefly  this : There 
is  in  London  a lady  of  rank  and  social  position,  who  is 
good  enough  to  be  my  friend,  and  who,  I feel  certain,  will, 
if  I ask  her  to  do  so,  interest  herself  in  the  fortunes  of 
these  two  young  ladies,  and  advise  us  what  is  best  to  be 
done  for  them  under  present  circumstances.  It  is  plain 
that  after  what  has  occurred  they  can  stay  no  longer  at 
Woolgreaves.” 

“ Perfectly  plain.  Maude  would  not  listen  to  such  a 
thing  for  a moment,  and  Gertrude  always  thinks  with  her 
sister.” 

“ That’s  plucky  in  Miss  Maude ; and  pluck  is  not  a bad 
quality  to  be  possessed  of  when  you  are  thrown  out  into 
the  world  on  your  own  resources,  as  some  of  us  know 
from  experience.  Then  they  must  leave  as  soon  as 
possible.  Lady  Caroline  Mansergh,  the  lady  of  whom 
I have  just  spoken,  will  doubtless  be  able  to  suggest  some 
place  where  they  can  be  received,  and  where  they  would 
have  the  advantage  of  her  occasional  surveillance.” 

“ Nothing  could  possibly  be  better,”  cried  Mr.  Benthall, 
in  great  glee.  “ I cannot  tell  you,  Mr.  Joyce,  how  much 
I am  obliged  to  you  for  your  disinterested  co-operation  in 
this  matter.” 

“ Perhaps  my  co-operation  is  not  so  disinterested  as 
you  imagine,”  said  Joyce,  with  a grave  smile.  “ Perhaps 
— but  that’s  nothing  now.” 

“ Will  you  write  to  Lady  Caroline  Mansergh  at  once? 
Time  presses,  you  know.” 

“ Better  than  that,  I will  go  up  to  London  and  see  her. 


AN  INCOMPLETE  VICTORY. 


357 


There  will  necessarily  be  a lull  in  the  canvassing  here  for 
the  next  two  or  three  days,  and  I shall  be  able  to  explain 
far  more  clearly  than  by  letter.  Besides,  I shall  take  the 
opportunity  of  seeing  our  friends  Potter  and  Fyfe,  and 
hearing  the  best  news  from  head-quarters.” 

“ That  is  merely  an  excuse,”  said  Mr.  Benthall ; “ I am 
sure  you  are  undertaking  this  journey  solely  with  the 
view  of  serving  these  young  ladies  and  me.” 

“ And  myself,  my  good  friend,”  replied  Joyce ; “ and 
myself,  I assure  you.” 

Lady  Caroline  Mansergh  had  a very  charming  little 
house  in  Chesterfield  Street,  Mayfair,  thoroughly  homeisli 
and  remarkably  comfortable.  Since  she  had  been  left 
a widow  she  had  frequently  passed  the  winter,  as  well  as 
the  season,  in  London,  and  her  residence  was  accordingly 
arranged  with  a due  regard  to  the  miseries  of  our  delight- 
ful climate.  Her  ladyship  was  in  town,  Joyce  was  glad 
to  find ; and  after  he  had  sent  up  his  name,  he  was  shown 
into  a very  cosy  drawing-room,  with  a large  fire  blazing 
on  the  hearth,  and  all  the  draughts  carefully  excluded  by 
means  of  portieres  and  thick  hanging  curtains.  He  had 
merely  time  to  notice  that  the  room  was  eminently  one  to 
be  lived  in,  and  not  kept  merely  for  show — one  that  was 
lived  in,  moreover,  as  the  sign  of  a woman’s  hand,  every- 
where recognisable,  in  the  management  of  the  flowers  and 
the  books,  in  the  work-basket  and  the  feminine  writing 
arrangements,  so  different,  somehow,  from  a man’s  desk 
and  its  appurtenances,  plainly  showed — when  the  door 
opened,  and  Lady  Caroline  entered  the  room. 

She  was  looking  splendidly  handsome.  In  all  the 
work  and  worry  of  his  recent  life,  Joyce  had  lost  all 
except  a kind  of  general  remembrance  of  her  face  and 
figure,  and  he  was  almost  betrayed  into  an  exclamation  of 
astonishment  as  he  saw  her  advancing  towards  him. 
There  must  have  been  something  of  this  feeling  in  the 
expression  of  his  face,  for  Lady  Caroline’s  cheeks  flushed 


358 


WRECKED  IN  PORT, 


for  an  instant,  and  the  voice  in  which  she  bade  him 
welcome,  and  expressed  her  pleasure  of  seeing  him,  was 
rather  unsteady  in  its  tone. 

“ I imagined  you  were  at  Brocksopp,55  she  said,  after 
a minute ; 44  indeed  I have  some  idea  that  quite  recently 
I saw  a report  in  the  paper  of  some  speech  of  yours,  as 
having  been  delivered  there.5’ 

44  Perfectly  correct : I only  came  up  last  night.” 

44  And  how  goes  the  great  cause  ? No,  seriously,  how 
are  you  progressing ; what  are  the  chances  of  success  ? 
You  know  how  interested  I am  about  it ! 55 

“We  are  progressing  admirably,  and  if  we  can  only 
hold  out  as  we  are  doing,  there  is  very  little  doubt  of  our 
triumph ! 55 

44  And  you  will  enter  upon  the  career  which  I suggested 
to  you,  Mr.  Joyce,  and  you  will  work  in  it  as  you  have 
worked  in  everything  else  which  you  have  undertaken 
with  zeal,  energy,  and  success  ! 55  said  Lady  Caroline,  with 
hashing  eyes.  44  But  what  has  brought  you  to  London  at 
this  particular  time  ? 55 

44  You,  Lady  Caroline  ! 55 

44 1 ? 55  and  the  flush  again  overspread  her  face. 

44  You.  I wanted  your  advice  and  assistance.” 

44  Ah  ! I recollect  you^said  just  now,  4 if  we  could  only 
hold  out  as  we  are  doing.5  How  foolish  of  me  not  at  once 

to Mr.  Joyce,  you — you  want  money  to  pursue  this 

election,  and  you  have  shown  your  friendship  for  me 
by 

44  No,  indeed,  Lady  Caroline,  though  there  is  no  one  in 
the  world  to  whom  I would  so  gladly  be  under  an  obliga- 
tion. No  ; this  is  a matter  of  a very  different  kind ; 55  and 
he  briefly  explained  to  her  the  state  of  affairs  at  Wool- 
greaves,  and  the  position  of  Maude  and  Gertrude  Cres- 
well. 

After  he  had  concluded  there  was  a momentary  pause, 
and  then  Lady  Caroline  said,  44  And  you  do  not  know 
either  of  these  young  ladies,  Mr.  Joyce?” 


AN  INCOMPLETE  VICTORY. 


359 


“ I do  not.  I have  scarcely  seen  them  since  they  were 
children.” 

“ And  it  is  for  the  sake  of  revenge  on  her  that  he  is 
taking  all  this  trouble ! ” thought  Lady  Caroline  to  her- 
self ; “ that  woman  threw  away  a priceless  treasure ; the 
manw  ho  can  hate  like  this  must  have  a great  capacity 
for  loving.”  Then  she  said  aloud,  “ I am  very  glad  you. 
came  to  me,  Mr.  Joyce,  as  this  is  plainly  a case  where 
prompt  action  is  needed.  When  do  you  return  to  Brock- 
sopp?” 

“ To-night.” 

“ Will  you  be  the  bearer  of  a note  from  me  to  Miss 
Creswell  ? I shall  be  delighted  to  have  her  and  her  sister 
here,  in  this  house,  as  my  guests,  as  long  as  it  may  suit 
them  to  remain.” 

“ Lady  Caroline,  how  can  I thank  you  ? ” 

“By  asking  me  to  do  some  service  for  you  yourself* 
Mr.  Joyce.  This  is  merely  general  philanthropy.” 

Marian  Creswell  was  in  great  exultation,  for  several 
reasons.  Mr.  Joyce  had  hurried  suddenly  to  London,  and 
a report  had  been  started  that  he  was  about  to  abandon 
the  contest.  That  was  one  cause  for  her  delight.  Another 
was  that  the  girls  had  evidently  accepted  their  defeat  in 
the  last  contest  as  final,  and  she  should  be  rid  of  them  for 
ever.  She  had  noticed  various  preparations  for  departure, 
and  had  seen  heavy  boxes  lumbering  the  passages  near 
their  rooms,  but  had  carefully  avoided  making  any  in- 
quiries, and  had  begged  her  husband  to  do  likewise. 

“ They  will  go,”  she  said,  “ and  it  will  be  for  the  best. 
Either  they  or  I must  have  gone,  and  I suppose  you  would 
prefer  it  should  be  they.  It  is  their  duty  to  say  where 
they  purpose  going,  and  what  they  purpose  doing.  It 
will  be  time  enough  for  you  to  refuse  your  consent,  if  the 
place  of  selection  be  an  objectionable  one,  when  they  tell 
us  where  it  is.” 

Two  days  after  that  conversation  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Cres- 


360 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


well  were  sitting  together  after  luncheon,  when  Maude 
entered  the  room.  She  took  no  notice  of  Marian,  but  said 
to  her  uncle,  “ Gertrude  and  I are  going  away  to-morrow, 
uncle,  for  some  time,  if  not  for  ever.  You  won’t  be 
astonished  to  hear  it,  I know,  but  it  is  our  duty  to  tell 
you.” 

“ Well,  Maude,  I — going  away — I confess,  not  entirely 
news  to  me,”  said  Mr.  Creswell,  hopelessly  feeble ; “ where 
are  you  going,  child  ? ” 

“We  have  accepted  an  invitation  we  have  received, 
uncle.” 

“ An  invitation  ? I did  not  know  you  knew  any  one, 
Maude.  From  some  of  your  old  school  companions?” 

“ No,  uncle ; from  Lady  Caroline  Mansergh — a friend 
of  Mr.  Benthall’s  and  Mr.  Joyce’s,  uncle.” 

Marian  looked  up,  and  the  light  of  triumph  faded  out 
of  her  eyes.  It  was  but  an  incomplete  victory,  after  all ! 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

THE  SHATTERING  OF  THE  IDOL. 

The  fact  that  his  nieces  had  actually  left  the  shelter  of  his 
roof,  although,  as  he  had  hitherto  believed,  that  result  had 
been  brought  about  by  their  own  wilfulness  and  impatience 
of  control,  came  upon  Mr.  Creswell  with  almost  stunning 
force.  True,  Marian  had  mentioned  to  him  that  it  was 
impossible  that  she  and  the  girls  could  ever  live  together 
in  amity — true,  that  he  himself  had  on  more  than  one 
occasion  been  witness  of  painful  scenes  between  them — 
true,  that  the  girls’  departure  had  been  talked  of  for  a 
week  past  as  an  expected  event,  and  that  the  preparations 
for  it  lay  before  his  eyes ; but  he  had  not  realised  the 


THE  SHATTERING  OF  THE  IDOL. 


361 


fact;  his  mind  was  so  taken  up  with  the  excitement  of 
the  coming  election  contest,  that  he  had  scarcely  noticed 
the  luggage  through  which  he  had  occasionally  to  thread 
his  way,  or,  if  he  had  noticed  it,  had  regarded  its  presence 
there  as  merely  a piece  of  self-assertion  on  the  part  of 
impetuous  Maude  or  silly  Gertrude,  determined  to  show, 
foolish  children  as  they  were,  that  they  were  not  to  be  put 
down  by  Marian’s  threats,  but  were  ready  to  start  inde- 
pendently whenever  such  a step  might  become  necessary. 
That  Marian  would  ever  allow  them  to  take  this  step, 
Mr.  Creswell  never  imagined ; he  thought  there  had 
always  been  smouldering  embers  of  warfare,  needing  but 
a touch  to  burst  into  a blaze,  between  his  wife  and  his 
nieces ; he  knew  that  they  had  never  “ hit  it,”  as  he 
phrased  it;  but  his  opinion  of  Marian  was  so  high,  and 
his  trust  in  her  so  great,  that  he  could  not  believe  she 
would  be  sufficiently  affected  by  these  “ women’s  tiffs  ” as 
to  visit  them  with  such  disproportionate  punishment. 
Even  in  the  moment  of  adieu,  when  Gertrude,  making  no 
attempt  to  hide  her  tears,  had  sobbingly  kissed  him  and 
clung  about  his  neck,  and  Maude,  less  demonstrative,  but 
not  less  affectionate,  had  prayed  God  bless  him  in  a broken 
voice — she  passed  Mrs.  Creswell  with  a grave  bow,  taking 
no  notice  of  Marian’s  extended  hand — the  old  man  could 
scarcely  comprehend  what  was  taking  place,  but  looked 
across  to  his  wife,  hoping  she  would  relent,  and  with  a 
few  affectionate  words  wished  the  girls  a pleasant  visit  to 
London,  but  bid  them  come  back  soon  to  their  home. 

But  Marian  never  moved  a muscle,  standing  there, 
calm  and  statuesque,  until  the  door  had  closed  upon  them 
and  the  carriage  had  rolled  away;  and  then  the  first 
sound  that  issued  from  her  lips  was  a sigh  of  relief  that, 
so  far,  her  determination  had  been  fulfilled  without  much 
overt  opposition,  and  without  any  “ scene.”  Not  that  she 
was  by  any  means  satisfied  with  what  she  had  done ; she 
had  accomplished  so  much  of  her  purpose  as  consisted  in 
removing  the  girls  from  their  uncle’s  home,  but  instead 


362 


WRECKED  IN  TORT. 


of  their  being  reduced  in  social  position  thereby — which* 
judging  other  people,  as  she  always  did,  by  her  own 
standard,  she  imagined  would  be  the  greatest  evil  she 
could  inflict  upon  them — she  found  her  plans  had  been 
attended  with  an  exactly  opposite  result.  The  entrance 
into  society,  which  she  had  so  long  coveted,  and  which 
she  had  hoped  to  gain  by  her  husband’s  election,  not 
merely  now  seemed  dim  and  remote,  owing  to  the  strong 
possibility  of  Mr.  Creswell’s  failure,  but  would  now  be 
open  to  Maude  and  Gertrude,  through  the  introduction  of 
this  Lady  Caroline  Mansergh,  of  whose  high  standing, 
even  amongst  her  equals,  Marian  had  heard  frequently 
from  Mr.  Gould,  her  one  link  with  the  great  world.  This 
was  a bitter  blow ; but  it  was  even  worse  to  think  that 
this  introduction  had  been  obtained  for  the  girls  through 
the  medium  of  Walter  Joyce — the  man  she  had  despised 
and  rejected  on  account  of  his  poverty  and  social  insignifi- 
cance, and  who  now  not  merely  enjoyed  himself,  but  had 
apparently  the  power  of  dispensing  to  others,  benefits  for 
which  she  sighed  in  vain.  Now,  for  the  first  time,  she 
began  to  appreciate  the  estimation  in  which  Walter  was 
held  by  those  whose  esteem  was  worth  having.  Hitherto 
she  had  only  thought  that  the  talent  for  “ writing”  which 
he  had  unexpectedly  developed  had  made  him  useful  to  a 
political  party,  who,  availing  themselves  of  his  services  in 
a time  of  need,  gave  him  the  chance  of  establishing  him- 
self in  life ; but  so  far  as  position  was  concerned,  he 
seemed  to  have  already  had,  and  already  to  have  availed 
himself  of,  that  chance  ; for  here  was  the  sister  of  an  earl, 
a woman  of  rank  and  acknowledged  position,  eager  to 
show  her  delight  in  doing  him  service!  “And  that 
position,”  said  Marian  to  herself,  “ I might  have  shared 
with  him  ! Marriage  with  me  would  not  have  sapped  his 
brain  or  lessened  any  of  those  wonderful  qualities  which 
have  won  him  such  renown.  To  such  a man  a career  is 
always  open,  and  a career  means  not  merely  sufficient 
wealth,  but  distinction  and  fame.  And  I rejected  him — 
for  what  ? ” 


THE  SHATTERING  OF  THE  IDOL. 


363 


These  reflections  and  others  of  similar  import  formed 
a constant  subject  for  Marian’s  mental  exercitation,  and 
invariably  left  her  a prey  to  discontent  and  something 
very  like  remorse.  The  glamour  of  money-possession  had 
faded  away ; she  had  grown  accustomed  to  all  it  had 
brought  her,  and  was  keenly  alive  to  what  it  had  not 
brought  her,  and  what  she  had  expected  of  it — pleasant 
society,  agreeable  friends,  elevated  position.  In  her  own 
heart  she  felt  herself  undervaluing  the  power  of  great 
riches,  and  thinking  how  much  better  was  it  to  have  a 
modest  competence  sufficient  for  one’s  wants,  sufficient  to 
keep  one  from  exposure  to  the  shifts  and  pinches  of  such 
poverty  as  she  had  known  in  her  early  life,  when  com- 
bined with  a position  in  life  which  gave  one  the  chance  of 
holding  one’s  own  amongst  agreeable  people,  rather  than 
to  be  the  Croesus  gaped  at  by  wondering  yokels,  or  capped 
to  by  favour-seeking  tenants.  A few  months  before,  such 
thoughts  would  have  been  esteemed  almost  blasphemous 
by  Marian  ; but  she  held  them  now,  and  felt  half  inclined 
to  resent  on  her  husband  his  ignorant  and  passive  share  in 
the  arrangement  which  had  substituted  him  for  Walter 
J oyce. 

That  was  the  worst  of  all.  After  Maude  and  Gertrude 
Creswell  left  Woolgreaves,  an  unseen  but  constantly 
present  inmate  was  added  to  the  household,  who  sat 
between  husband  and  wife,  and  whispered  into  their  ears 
alternately.  His  name  was  Doubt,  and  to  Mr.  Creswell 
he  said — “ What  has  become  of  all  those  fine  resolutions 
which  you  made  on  your  brother  Tom’s  death  ? — resolu- 
tions about  taking  his  children  under  your  roof,  and  never 
losing  sight  of  them  until  they  left  as  happy  brides? 
Where  are  they  now?  Those  resolutions  have  been 
broken,  have  they  not?  The  girls,  Tom’s  daughters — 
orphan  daughters,  mind — have  been  sent  away  from  what 
you  had  taught  them  to  look  upon  as  their  home — sent 
away  on  some  trivial  excuse  of  temper — and  where  are 
they  now?  You  don’t  know! — you,  the  uncle,  the  self- 


364 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


constituted  guardian — positively  don’t  know  where  they 
are!  You  have  had  the  address  given  you,  of  course,  hut 
you  cannot  imagine  the  place,  for  you  have  never  seen  it ; 
you  cannot  picture  to  yourself  the  lady  with  whom  they 
are  said  to  he  staying,  for  you  never  saw  her,  and,  until 
your  wife  explained  who  she  was,  you  had  scarcely  even 
heard  of  her.  Your  wife!  Ah!  that  is  a pleasant  sub- 
ject ! You’ve  found  her  all  that  you  expected,  have  you 
not?  So  clever,  clear-headed,  bright,  and,  withal,  so 
docile  and  obedient?  Yet  she  it  was  who  quarrelled  with 
your  nieces,  and  told  you  that  either  she  or  they  must 
leave  your  house.  She  it  was  who  saw  them  depart  with 
delight,  and  who  never  bated  one  jot  of  her  satisfaction 
when  she  noticed,  as  she  cannot  have  failed  to  notice,  your 
emotion  and  regret.  Look  back  into  the  past,  man — 
think  of  the  woman  who  was  your  trusted  helpmate  in  the 
old  days  of  your  poverty  and  struggle ! — think  of  her  big 
heart,  her  indomitable  courage,  her  loving  womanly 
nature,  beaming  ever  more  brightly  when  the  dark 
shadows  gathered  round  your  lives ! — think  of  her,  man, 
compare  her  with  this  one,  and  see  the  difference ! ” 

And  to  Marian  the  dim  personage  said — “ You,  a 
young  woman,  handsome,  clever,  and  with  a lover  who 
worshipped  you,  have  bartered  yourself  away  to  that  old 
man  sitting  there — for  what?  A fine  house,  which  no 
one  comes  to  see — carriages,  in  which  you  ride  to  a dull 
country  town  to  receive  the  bows  of  a dozen  shopkeepers, 
and  drive  home  again — hawbuck  servants,  who  talk 
against  you  as  they  talk  against  every  one,  but  always 
more  maliciously  against  any  whom  they  have  known  in  a 
different  degree  of  life — and  the  title  of  the  squire’s  lady ! 
You  are  calculated  to  enjoy  life  which  you  will  never 
behold,  and  to  shine  in  society  to  which  you  will  never  be 
admitted.  You  wanted  money,  and  now  you  have  it,  and 
how  much  good  has  it  done  you  ? Would  it  not  have  been 
better  to  have  waited  a little — just  a little — not  to  have 
been  quite  so  eager  to  throw  away  the  worshipping  lover, 


THE  SHATTERING  OF  THE  IDOL. 


365 


who  has  done  so  well,  as  it  has  turned  out,  and  who  is  in 
every  way  but  ill  replaced  by  the  old  gentleman  sitting 
there  ? ” 

The  promptings  of  the  dim  presence  worked  uncom- 
fortably on  both  the  occupants  of  Wool  greaves,  but  they 
had  the  greatest  effect  on  the  old  gentleman  sitting  there. 
With  the  departure  of  the  girls,  and  the  impossibility 
which  attended  his  efforts  to  soften  his  wife’s  coldness  and 
do  away  with  the  vindictive  feeling  which  she  entertained 
towards  his  nieces,  Mr.  Creswell  seemed  to  enter  on  a new 
and  totally  different  sphere  of  existence.  The  bright 
earnest  man  of  business  became  doddering  and  vague,  his 
cheerj'  look  was  supplanted  by  a worn,  haggard,  fixed 
regard ; his  step,  which  had  been  remarkably  elastic  and 
vigorous  for  a man  of  his  years,  became  feeble  and  slow, 
and  he  constantly  sat  with  his  hand  tightly  pressed  on  his 
side,  as  though  to  endeavour  to  ease  some  gnawing  pain. 
A certain  amount  of  coldness  and  estrangement  between 
him  and  Marian,  which  ensued  immediately  after  his 
nieces’  departure,  had  increased  so  much  as  entirely  to 
change  the  ordinary  current  of  their  lives ; the  pleasant 
talk  which  he  used  to  originate,  and  which  she  would 
pursue  with  such  brightness  and  earnestness  as  to  cause 
him  the  greatest  delight,  had  dwindled  down  into  a few 
careless  inquiries  on  her  part,  and  meaningless  replies 
from  him ; and  the  evenings,  which  he  had  looked  forward 
to  with  such  pleasure,  were  now  passed  in  almost  un- 
broken silence. 

One  day  Mr.  Gould,  the  election  agent,  arrived  from 
London  at  Brocksopp,  and,  without  going  into  the  town, 
ordered  the  fly  which  he  engaged  at  the  station  to  drive 
him  straight  to  Woolgreaves.  On  his  arrival  there  he 
asked  for  Mrs.  Creswell.  The  servant,  who  recognised 
him  and  knew  his  business — what  servant  at  houses 
which  we  are  in  the  habit  of  frequenting  does  not  know 
our  business  and  all  about  us,  and  has  his  opinion, 
generally  unfavourable,  of  us  and  our  affairs? — doubted 


366 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


whether  he  had  heard  aright,  and  replied  that  his  master 
had  gone  to  Brocksopp,  and  would  he  found  either  at  the 
mills  or  at  his  committee-rooms.  But  Mr.  Gould  renewed 
his  inquiry  for  Mrs.  Creswell,  and  was  conducted  by  the 
wondering  domestic  to  that  lady’s  boudoir.  The  London 
agent,  always  sparse  of  compliments,  spoke  on  this  oc- 
casion with  even  more  than  usual  brevity. 

“ I came  to  see  you  to-day,  Mrs.  Creswell,  and  not  your 
husband,”  said  he,  “as  I think  you  are  more  likely  to 
comprehend  my  views,  and  to  offer  me  some  advice.” 

“ Regarding  the  election,  Mr.  Gould?  ” 

“ Regarding  the  election,  of  course.  I want  to  put 
things  in  a clear  light  to  you,  and,  as  you’re  a remarkably 
clear-headed  woman — oh  no,  I never  flatter,  I don’t  get 
time  enough — you’ll  be  able  to  turn  ’em  in  your  mind, 
and  think  what’s  best  to  be  done.  I should  have  made 
the  communication  to  your  husband  six  months  ago,  but 
he’s  grown  nervous  and  fidgety  lately,  and  I’d  sooner  have 
the  advantage  of  your  clear  brain.” 

“You  are  very  good — do  you  think  Mr.  Criswell’s 
looking  ill?” 

“Well — I was  going  to  say  you  mustn’t  be  frightened, 
but  that’s  not  likely — you’re  too  strong-minded,  Mrs. 
Creswell.  The  fact  is,  I do  see  a great  difference  in  the 
old — I mean  Mr.  Creswell — during  the  last  few  weeks, 
and  not  only  I,  but  the  people  too.” 

“You  mean  some  of  the  electors  ? ” 

“Yes,  some  of  his  own  people,  good  staunch  friends. 
They  say  they  can’t  get  anything  out  of  him  now,  can’t 
pin  him  to  a question.  He  used  to  be  clear  and  straight- 
forward, and  now  he  wanders  away  into  something  else, 
and  sits  mumchance,  and  doesn’t  answer  any  questions 
at  all.” 

“ And  you  have  come  to  consult  me  about  this  ? ” 

“ I’ve  come  to  say  to  you  that  this  won’t  do  at  all.  He 
is  pledged  to  go  to  the  poll,  and  he  must  go,  cheerily  and 
pleasantly,  though  there  is  no  doubt  about  it  that  we 
shall  get  an  awful  thrashing.” 


THE  SHATTERING  OF  THE  IDOL. 


367 


“ You  think  so? ” 

“ I’m  sure  so.  We  were  doing  very  well  at  first,  and 
Mr.  Creswell  is  very  much  respected  and  all  that,  and  he 
would  have  heat  that  young  What’s-his-name — Bokenham 
— without  very  much  trouble.  But  this  Joyce  is  a horse 
of  a different  colour.  Directly  he  started  the  current 
seemed  to  turn.  He’s  a good-looking  fellow,  and  they  like 
that ; and  a self-made  man,  and  they  like  that ; and  he 
speaks  capitally,  tells  ’em  facts  which  they  can  under- 
stand, and  they  like  that.  He  has  done  capitally  from  the 
first ; and  now  they’ve  got  up  'some  story — Harrington 
did  that,  I fancy,  young  Harrington  acting  for  Potter  and 
Fyfe,  very  clever  fellow — they’ve  got  up  some  story  that 
Joyce  was  jilted  some  time  ago  by  the  girl  he  was  engaged 
to,  who  threw  him  over  because  he  was  poor,  or  some- 
thing of  that  sort,  I can’t  recollect  the  details — and  that 
has  been  a splendid  card  with  the  women ; they  are 
insisting  on  their  husbands’  voting  for  him ; so  that 
altogether  we’re  in  a bad  way.” 

“ Do  you  think  Mr.  Creswell  will  be  defeated,  Mr. 
Gould  ? You’ll  tell  me  honestly,  of  course.” 

“It’s  impossible  to  say  until  the  day,  quite  impossible, 
my  dear  Mrs.  Creswell ; but  I’m  bound  to  confess  it  looks 
horribly  like  it.  By  what  I understand  from  Mr.  Croke, 
who  wrote  to  me  the  other  day,  Mr.  Creswell  has  given 
up  attending  public  meetings,  and  that  kind  of  thing,  and 
that’s  foolish,  very  foolish.” 

“His  health  has  been  anything  but  good  lately, 
and ” 

“I  know ; and  of  course  his  spirits  have  been  down 
also.  But  he  must  keep  them  up,  and  he  must  go  to  the 
poll,  even  if  he’s  beaten.” 

“ And  the  chances  of  that  are,  you  think,  strong  ? ” 

“ Are,  I fear,  very  strong ! However,  something 
might  yet  be  done  if  he  were  to  do  a little  house-to-house 
canvassing  in  his  old  bright  spirits.  But  in  any  case, 
Mrs.  Creswell,  he  must  stick  to  his  guns,  and  we  look  to 
you  to  keep  him  there ! ” 


368 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


“ I will  do  my  best,”  said  Marian,  and  the  interview 
was  at  an  end. 

As  the  door  closed  behind  Mr.  Gould,  Marian  flung 
herself  into  an  easy-chair,  and  the  bitter  tears  of  rage 
welled  up  into  her  eyes.  So  it  was  destined  that  this 
man  was  to  cross  her  path  to  her  detriment  for  the  rest 
of  her  life.  Oh,  what  terrible  shame  and  humiliation 
to  think  of  him  winning  the  victory  from  them,  more 
especially  after  her  interview  with  him,  and  the  avowal 
of  her  intense  desire  to  be  successful  in  the  matter ! 
There  could  be  no  doubt  about  the  result.  Mr.  Gould  was 
understood,  she  had  heard,  to  be  in  general  inclined  to 
take  a hopeful  view  of  affairs ; but  his  verdict  on  the  pro- 
bable issue  of  the  Brocksopp  election  was  unmistakably 
dolorous.  What  a bitter  draught  to  swallow,  what  frightful 
mortification  to  undergo  ! What  could  be  done  ? It  would 
be  impolitic  to  tell  Mr.  Creswell  of  his  agent’s  fears  ; and 
even  if  he  were  told  of  them,  he  was  just  the  man  who 
would  more  than  ever  insist  on  fighting  until  the  very  last, 
and  would  not  imagine  that  there  was  any  disgrace  in  being 
beaten  after  gallant  combat  by  an  honourable  antagonist. 
And  there  was  no  possible  way  out  of  it,  unless — great 
Heaven,  what  a horrible  thought ! — unless  he  were  to  die. 
That  would  settle  it ; there  would  be  no  defeat  for  him 
then,  and  she  would  be  left  free,  rich,  and  with  the  power 

to She  must  not  think  of  anything  so  dreadful.  The 

noise  of  wheels  on  the  gravel,  the  carriage  at  the  door, 
and  her  husband  descending.  How  wearily  he  drags  his 
limbs  down  the  steps,  what  lassitude  there  is  in  every 
action,  and  how  wan  his  cheeks  are  ! He  is  going  towards 
the  drawing-room  on  the  ground-floor,  and  she  hastens  to 
meet  him  there. 

“ What  is  the  matter  ? Are  you  ill  ? ” 

“ Very — very  ill ; but  pleased  to  see  you,  to  get  back 
home.”  This  with  a touch  of  the  old  manner,  and  in  the 
old  voice.  “ Very  ill,  Marian ; weak,  and  down,  and 
depressed.  I can’t  stand  it,  Marian ; I feel  I can’t.” 


THE  SHATTERING  OF  THE  IDOL. 


369 


u What  is  it  that  seems  too  much  for  you  ? ” 

“ All  this  worry  and  annoyance,  this  daily  contact 
with  all  these  horrible  people.  I must  give  it  up,  Marian  ; 
I must  give  it  up  ! ” 

“ You  must  give  what  up,  dear  ? ” 

“ This  election.  All  the  worry  of  it,  the  preliminary 
worry,  has  been  nigh  to  kil]  me,  and  I must  have  no  more 
of  it ! ” 

“ Well,  but  think ” 

“ I have  thought,  and  I’m  determined ; that  is,  if  you 
think  so  too.  I’ll  give  it  up,  I’ll  retire ; anything  to  have 
done  with  it ! ” 

“ But  what  will  people  say ? ” 

“ What  people,  who  have  a right  to  say  anything  ? ” 

“ Your  committee,  I mean — those  who  have  been 
working  for  you  so  earnestly  and  so  long.” 

“ I don’t  care  what  they  say.  My  health  is  more 
important  than  anything  else — and  you  ought  to  think  so* 
Marian ! ” 

He  spoke  with  a nervous  irritability  such  as  she  had 
never  previously  noticed  in  him,  and  looked  askance  at 
her  from  under  his  gray  eyebrows.  He  began  to  think 
that  there  might  be  some  foundation  of  truth  in  Ger- 
trude’s out-blurted  sentiment,  that  Mrs.  Creswell  thought 
of  nothing  in  comparison  with  her  own  self-interest. 
Certainly  her  conduct  now  seemed  to  give  colour  to  the 
assertion,  for  Marian  seemed  annoyed  at  the  idea  of  his 
withdrawal  from  seeking  a position  by  which  she  would 
be  benefited,  even  where  his  health  was  concerned. 

Mr.  Creswell  was  mistaken.  Marian,  in  her  inmost 
heart,  had  hailed  this  determination  of  her  husband’s 
with  the  greatest  delight,  seeing  in  it,  if  it  were  carried 
out,  an  excellent  opportunity  for  escaping  the  ignominy 
of  a defeat  by  Walter  Joyce.  But  after  this  one  con- 
versation, which  she  brought  to  a close  by  hinting  that 
of  course  his  wishes  should  be  acted  upon,  but  it  would 
perhaps  be  better  to  leave  things  as  they  were,  and  not 

2 B 


370 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


come  to  any  definite  conclusion  for  the  present,  she  did 
not  allude  to  the  subject,  but  occupied  her  whole  time  in 
attending  to  her  husband,  who  needed  all  her  care.  Mr. 
Creswell  was  indeed  very  far  from  well.  He  went  into 
town  occasionally,  and,  at  Marian’s  earnest  request,  still 
busied  himself  a little  about  the  affairs  of  the  election, 
but  in  a very  spiritless  manner ; and  when  he  came 
home  he  would  go  straight  to  the  library,  and  there, 
ensconced  in  an  easy-chair,  sit  for  hours  staring  vacantly 
before  him,  the  shadow  of  his  former  self.  At  times, 
too,  Marian  would  find  his  eyes  fixed  on  her,  watching 
all  her  motions,  following  her  about  the  room,  not 
with  the  lingering  loving  looks  of  old,  but  with  an 
odd  furtive  glance ; and  there  was  a pitiful  expression 
about  his  mouth,  too,  at  those  times,  which  was  not 
pleasant  to  behold.  Marian  wondered  what  her  husband 
was  thinking  of.  It  was  a good  thing  that  she  did  not 
know ; for  as  he  looked  at  her — and  his  heart  did  not 
refuse  to  acknowledge  the  prettiness,  and  the  grace,  and 
the  dignity  which  .his  eyes  rested  on — the  old  man  was 
wondering  within  himself  what  could  have  induced  him, 
at  his  time  of  life,  to  marry  again — what  could  have 
induced  her,  seemingly  all  sweetness  and  kindness,  to 
take  an  inveterate  hatred  to  those  two  poor  girls,  Maude 
and  Gertrude,  who  had  been  turned  out  of  the  house, 
forced  to  leave  the  home  which  they  had  every  right  to 
consider  theirs,  and  he  had  been  too  weak,  too  much 
infatuated  with  Marian,  to  prevent  the  execution  of  her 
plans.  But  that  should  not  be.  He  was  ill  then,  but 
he  would  soon  be  better,  and  so  soon  as  he  found  himself 
a little  stronger  he  would  assume  his  proper  position,  and 
have  the  girls  back  again.  He  had  been  giving  way  too 
much  recently,  and  must  assert  himself.  He  was  glad 
now  he  had  said  nothing  about  giving  up  the  election  to 
any  one  save  Marian,  as  he  should  certainly  go  on  with  it 
— it  would  be  a little  healthy  excitement  to  him ; he  had 
suffered  himself  to  fall  into  very  dull  moping  ways,  but 


THE  SHATTERING  OF  THE  IDOL, 


371 


he  would  soon  be  all  right.  If  he  could  only  get  rid  of 
that  odd  numbing  pain  in  the  left  arm,  he  should  soon  be 
all  right. 

Little  Dr.  Osborne  was  in  the  habit  of  retiring  to 
rest  at  an  early  hour.  In  the  old  days,  before  his  “ girl  ” 
married/  he  liked  to  sit  up  and  hear  her  warble  away  at 
her  piano,  letting  himself  be  gradually  lulled  off  to  sleep 
by  the  music;  and  in  later  times,  when  his  fireside  was 
lonely  and  when  he  was  not  expecting  any  special  work, 
he  would  frequently  drive  over  to  Woolgreaves,  or  to  the 
Churchills  at  the  Park,  and  play  a rubber.  But  since  he 
had  quarrelled  with  Mrs.  Creswell,  since  her  “ most  dis- 
respectful treatment  of  him/’  as  he  phrased  it,  he  had 
never  crossed  the  threshold  at  Woolgreaves,  and  the  people 
at  the  Park  were  away  wintering  in  Italy,  so  that  the 
little  doctor  generally  finished  his  modest  tumbler  of  grog 
at  half-past  ten  and  “ turned  in  ” soon  after.  He  was  a 
sound  sleeper,  his  housekeeper  was  deaf,  and  the  maid, 
who  slept  up  in  the  roof,  never  heard  anything,  not  even 
her  own  snoring,  so  that  a late  visitor  had  a bad  chance 
of  making  his  presence  known.  A few  nights  after  the 
events  just  recorded,  however,  one  of  Mr.  Creswell’s 
grooms  attached  his  horse  to  the  doctor’s  railings  and  gave 
himself  up  to  performing  on  the  bell  with  such  energy 
and  determination,  that  after  two  minutes  a window 
opened  and  the  doctor’s  voice  was  heard  demanding, 
“ Who’s  there?” 

“ Sam,  from  Woolgreaves,  doctor,  wi’  a note.” 

“ From  Woolgreaves  ! — a note ! What’s  the  matter  ? ” 

“ Squire’s  bad,  had  a fit,  I heerd  housekeeper  say,  and 
madam  she  have  wrote  this  note  for  you ! Come  down, 
doctor ; it’s  marked  ’mediate,  madam  said.  Do  come 
down ! ” 

“ Eh  ? — what — Woolgreaves — had  a fit — Mrs.  Creswell 
— I’m  coming ! ” and  the  window  was  shut,  and  in  a few' 
minutes  Sam  was  shivering  in  the  hall,  while  the  doctor 


372 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


read  the  note  by  the  gaslight  in  his  surgery.  “ Hum  ! — 
1 No  doubt  you’ll  be  surprised  ’ — should  think  so,  indeed — 
‘has  been  long  ill* — thought  so  when  I saw  him  in  the 
Corn  Exchange  on  Saturday — 4 just  now  had  some  kind  of 
frightful  seizure  ’ — poor  dear  old  friend — ‘ calls  for  you — 
insists  on  seeing  you — for  God’s  sake  come  ’ — dear  me, 
dear  me  ! ” And  the  doctor  wiped  his  honest  old  eyes  on 
the  back  of  his  tattered  old  dressing-gown,  and  poured 
out  a glass  of  brandy  for  Sam,  and  another  for  himself, 
and  gave  the  groom  the  key  of  the  stable,  and  bade  him 
harness  the  pony,  for  he  should  be  ready  in  five  minutes. 

The  house  was  all  aroused,  lights  were  gleaming  in 
the  windows,  as  the  doctor  drove  up  the  avenue,  and 
Marian  was  standing  in  the  hall  when  he  entered.  She 
stepped  forward  to  meet  him,  but  there  was  something  in 
the  old  man’s  look  which  stopped  her  from  putting  out 
her  hand  as  she  had  intended,  so  they  merely  bowred 
gravely,  and  she  led  the  way  to  her  husband’s  room, 
where  she  left  him. 

Half  an  hour  elapsed  before  Dr.  Osborne  reappeared. 
His  face  was  very  grave  and  his  eyes  were  red.  This 
time  it  was  he  who  made  the  advance.  A year  ago  he 
would  have  put  his  arm  round  Marian’s  neck  and  kissed 
her  on  the  forehead.  Those  days  were  past,  but  he  took 
her  hand,  and  in  reply  to  her  hurried  question,  “ What  do 
you  think  of  him  ? ” said,  “ I think,  Mrs.  Creswell,  that 
my  old  friend  is  very  ill.  It  would  be  useless  to  disguise 
it — very  ill  indeed.  His  life  is  an  important  one,  and 
you  may  think  it  necessary  to  have  another  opinion  ” — 
this  a little  pompously  said,  and  met  with  a gesture  of 
dissent  from  Marian — “ but  in  mine,  no  time  must  be  lost 
in  removing  him,  I should  say,  abroad,  far  away  from  any 
chance  of  fatigue  or  excitement.” 

“ But,  Dr.  Osborne — the — the  election  ! ” 

“ To  go  through  the  election,  Mrs.  Creswell,  would 
kill  him  at  once ! He  would  never  survive  the  nomina- 
tion day  ! ” 


TOO  LATE. 


373 


“ It  will  be  a dreadful  blow  to  him,”  said  Marian. 
But  she  thought  to  herself,  “Here  is  the  chance  of  our 
escape  from  the  humiliation  of  defeat  by  Walter  Joyce  ! 
A means  of  evoking  sympathy  instead  of  contempt ! ” 


CIIAPTEE  XXXII 1. 

TOO  LATE. 

Dr.  Osborne’s  opinion  of  Mr.  Creswell’s  serious  state,  and 
the  absolute  necessity  for  the  old  gentleman’s  immediate 
withdrawal  from  everything  calculated  to  cause  worry  or 
excitement,  consequently  from  the  election,  was  soon  pro- 
mulgated through  Brocksopp,  and  caused  the  greatest  con- 
sternation amongst  the  supporters  of  the  Tory  policy.  Mr. 
Teesdale  was  summoned  at  once  to  Woolgreaves,  and  there 
had  a long  interview  with  Mrs.  Creswell,  who  convinced 
him — he  had  been  somewhat  incredulous  at  first,  being  a 
wary  man  of  the  world,  and  holding  the  principle  that 
doubt  and  disbelief  were  on  the  whole  the  isafest  and  most 
remunerative  doctrines — that  it  was  physically  impossible 
for  her  husband  to  continue  the  contest.  The  interview 
took  place  in  the  large,  carpeted,  and  furnished  bow- 
window  recess  on  the  landing  immediately  outside  the 
door  of  Mr.  Cres well’s  room,  and,  as  Mr.  Teesdale  after- 
wards remarked  in  conversation  with  Mr.  Gould,  whom  he 
summoned  by  telegraph  from  London,  there  was  no  ques- 
tion of  any  malingering  or  shamming  on  the  old  gentleman’s 
part,  as  he  could  be  heard  groaning,  poor  old  boy,  in  a 
very  lamentable  manner,  and  Dr.  Osborne,  wTio  called  at 
the  time,  said  his  patient  was  by  no  means  out  of  the 
wood  yet.  Mr.  Teesdale’s  talk,  professional  as  it  was,  was 
tinged  with  more  sympathy  and  respect  for  the  sufferer 


374 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


tl ian  were  Mr.  Gould’s  remarks.  Mr.  Teesdale  had  other 
relations  in  business  with  Mr.  Ores  well ; he  was  his  land 
agent  and  general  business  representative,  had  known  him 
intimately  for  years,  and  had  experienced  innumerable 
kindnesses  at  his  hands ; whereas,  Mr.  Gould  had  simply 
made  Mr.  Creswell’s  acquaintance  in  his  capacity  of  Con- 
servative candidates’  dry-nurse,  and  Mr.  Creswell  was  to 
him  merely  an  errant  and  peccant  ninepin,  which,  from 
fate  or  its  own  shortcomings,  it  was  impossible  for  him, 
skilful  “ setter-up  ” though  he  were,  to  put  properly  on 
end.  He  saw  this  after  five  minutes’  conversation  with 
his  local  representative,  Mr.  Teesdale,  and  saw  that  there 
was  an  end  of  his  chance,  so  far  as  Brocksopp  was  con- 
cerned. “It  won’t  do  here,  Teesdale,”  he  said;  “this 
finishes  our  business ! It  hasn’t  looked  very  promising 
throughout,  but  if  this  old  character  had  gone  to  the  poll, 
and  specially  if  he  had  said  one  or  two  things  you  could 
have  crammed  him  with  on  the  nomination  day,  we  might 
have  pulled  through  ! You  see  he’s  so  eminently  respect- 
able, and  though  he,  of  course,  is  not  to  be  compared  with 
this  young  chap  that  Potter  and  Fyfe’s  people  have  got 
hold  of — and  where  they  dug  him  up  astonishes  me ! 
Newspaper  office,  eh  ? ’Gad,  we  haven’t  got  much  of  that 
sort  of  stuff  in  the  newspaper  offices  of  our  party — however, 
though  the  old  gentleman  couldn’t  hold  a candle  to  this 
young  Joyce,  I’m  not  sure  that  we  couldn’t  have  got  him 
in.  They’d  have  had  the  show  of  hands  and  the  hurraying 
and  all  that ; but  we  know  how  much  that’s  worth,  and 
what  with  Sir  George  Neal’s  people  and  our  own,  we 
could  have  run  him  deuced  close,  even  if  we  didn’t  win. 
Nuisance  it  is,  too,  for  he’s  kept  us  from  running  anybody 
else.  There  was  young  Clare,  Sir  Willis  Clare’s  eldest  son, 
was  up  in  Pall  Mall  the  other  day,  ready  to  go  in  for  any- 
thing, and  with  rather  a hankering  for  this  place,  which 
his  father  sat  for  once;  but  I said  we  were  booked,  and 
now — confound  it ! ” 


TOO  LATE. 


375 


Mr.  Teesdale  was  scarcely  less  upset.  He  talked 
vaguely  of  getting  Mr.  Cres well’s  consent,  so  soon  as  he 
was  sufficiently  recovered  to  be  able  to  entertain  the  topic, 
to  the  substitution  of  some  good  Conservative  candidate  in 
his  place ; but  Mr.  Gould  treated  this  proposition  with  a 
scornful  laugh,  and  told  him  that  they  would  have  had  to 
do  all  they  knew  to  pull  Mr.  Cres  well  through,  and  that 
to  attempt  to  run  anybody  else  at  that  late  period  would 
be  madness.  So  a private  meeting  of  the  principal  sup- 
porters of  the  party  was  held  at  the  Lion,  and  Mr.  Gould — 
who  had  run  up  to  London  in  the  interim,  and  had  an  inter- 
view with  the  chief  wire-pullers — announced  that  in  con- 
sequence of  Mr.  Creswell’s  unfortunate  illness,  it  had  been 
decided  to  withdraw  him  from  the  candidature,  and,  as 
there  was  no  prospect  of  success  for  any  one  else  who  might 
be  started  in  the  same  interest,  to  refrain  from  contesting 
the  borough  at  this  election.  This  announcement  was 
received  in  dead  silence,  broken  by  Mr.  Croke’s  frank  and 
outspoken  denunciation  of  the  cowardice,  the  “ trem’lous- 
ness,”  the  “ not  to  put  too  foin  a p’int  upon  it,  the  funk  ” 
which  seemed  to  have  seized  upon  some  as  “ owt  t’  knaw 
better.”  The  meeting  was  held  in  the  evening,  most  of 
the  company  present  had  steaming  glasses  j of  grog  before 
them,  and  Mr.  Croke’s  outspoken  oratory  elicited  a vast 
amount  of  applause  and  knocking  on  the  tables  with  the 
stalwart  feet  of  the  tumblers.  A young  farmer  of  the 
neighbourhood,  popular  from  his  openhandedness  and  his 
skill  in  rifle-shooting — he  was  champion  badge-holder  in 
the  local  volunteers — rose  and  suggested  that  any  such 
abject  surrender  as  that  proposed  was  ill-advised  and  inex- 
pedient, and  sat  down,  after  finishing  a long  rambling 
speech,  the  purport  of  which  was  that  some  one  should 
be  put  forward  to  fill  the  gap  created  by  Mr.  Creswell’s 
lamented  but  unavoidable  illness.  That  the  gap  should 
be  filled,  seemed  to  be  a popular  idea ; but  each  of  the  ten 
or  twelve  speakers  who  subsequently  addressed  the  meet- 


376 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


ing  had  different  people  for  the  post : and  it  was  not  until 
Mr.  Teesdale  pointed  out  the  utter  futility  of  attempting 
to  begin  the  fight  anew  under  a fresh  banner,  confessing 
that  they  would  have  had  very  great  difficulty  in  bring- 
ing matters  to  a successful  issue  even  with  all  the  prestige 
of  Mr.  Cres well’s  name  and  position,  that  it  seemed  to  dawn 
upon  the  meeting  that  their  chance  was  hopeless.  This 
had  been  told  them  at  the  outset  by  Mr.  Gould ; but  he 
was  from  London,  and,  consequently,  in  the  ideas  of  the 
farmers  present,  steeped  in  duplicity  of  every  kind,  and 
labouring  under  an  impossibility  of  truth-speaking.  Mr. 
Teesdale  had  infinitely  more  weight  with  his  audience. 
They  knew  him  as  a man  whose  word  was  to  be  relied  on, 
and  the  impossibility  of  doing  anything  beyond  swallow- 
ing the  bitter  pill  was  acknowledged  among  them  from 
that  moment.  True,  that  the  pill  was  so  bitter  as  to 
require  the  consumption  of  an  extraordinary  amount  of 
bran dy-and- water  to  get  it  down,  a fact  which  helped  to 
console  old  Tilley,  the  landlord,  for  the  shock  to  his 
political  principles.  It  is  to  be  noted,  also,  that  after  the 
withdrawal  of  Messrs.  Gould  and  Teesdale,  the  meeting 
gave  itself  up  to  harmony  of  a lugubrious  character,  and 
dismal  ditties,  mixed  with  fierce  denunciations  of  demo- 
crats and  reformers,  were  borne  away  on  the  still  night 
air. 

So,  within  a day  or  two,  the  walls  of  Brocksopp  were 
covered  with  placards  signed  in  Mr.  Cres  well’s  name, 
setting  forth  the  sad  cause  which  prevented  him  from 
further  exertion  in  the  interests  of  freedom  and  purity  of 
election,  lamenting  the  impossibility  of  being  able  con- 
scientiously to  recommend  a proper  candidate  to  the  con- 
stituency at  so  short  a notice,  but  bidding  the  electors  not 
to  despair  so  long  as  there  remained  to  them  a House  of 
Lords  and  an  omniscient  aristocracy.  This  document, 
which  was  the  production  of  Mr.  Teesdale  (Mr.  Gould  had 
been  called  away  to  superintend  certain  other  strongholds 


TOO  LATE. 


377 


where  the  ^fortifications  showed  signs  of  crumbling),  was’ 
supplemented  by  the  copy  of  a medical  certificate  from  Dr. 
Osborne,  which  stated  that  Mr.  Creswell’s  condition  was 
such  as  to  imperatively  demand  the  utmost  quietude,  and 
that  any  such  excitement  as  that  to  be  caused  by 
entering  on  an  election  contest  would  probably  cost  him 
his  life. 

The  news  was  already  known  at  the  enemy’s  head- 
quarters. On  the  morning  after  the  meeting  at  the  Lion, 
Mr.  Harrington,  who  had  been  duly  informed  of  all  that 
had  taken  place  by  a spy  in  whom  he  could  place  implicit 
confidence,  walked  over  to  Shuttleworth,  the  nearest 
telegraphic  station,  and  thence  despatched  the  following 
enigmatic  message  to  his  firm  : “ Brocksopp  Stakes.  Old 
Horse  broken  down  in  training.  Our  Colt  will  walk  over.” 
It  happened  that  Mr.  Potter  was  alone  when  this  telegram 
arrived,  and  to  him  it  was  utterly  unintelligible;  but  Mr. 
Fyfe,  who  came  in  shortly  afterwards,  and  who  was  ac- 
quainted with  and  tolerant  of  the  vagaries  of  his  clerk’s 
intellect,  soon  guessed  at  the  situation,  and  explained  it  to 
his  partner. 

So  it  fell  out  that  the  election  for  Brocksopp,  which 
had  attracted  attention  even  amongst  gredt  people  in  the 
political  world,  and  which  was  looked  forward  to  with 
intense  interest  in  the  neighbourhood,  passed  off  in  the 
quietest  and  tamest  manner.  The  mere  fact  of  the  know- 
ledge that  there  was  to  be  no  opposition,  no  contest, 
robbed  the  nomination  day  of  all  its  interest  to  hundreds 
of  farmers  in  outlying  places,  who  did  not  care  to  give  up 
a day’s  work  when  there  was  to  bo  no  “ scrimmage  ” as  a 
requital  for  their  sacrifice  of  time ; and  the  affair  was  con- 
sequently thoroughly  orderly  and  commonplace.  There 
were  comparatively  few  persons  present,  and  five  minutes 
after  Joyce’s  speech,  in  which  he  returned  thanks  for  the 
honour  done  to  him,  and  alluded  with  much  nice  feeling  to 
his  late  opponent’s  illness,  had  concluded,  the  market- 


378 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


square  was  deserted,  and  the  clumsy  hustings  remained 
the  sole  memorial  of  the  event  to  which  so  many  had 
looked  forward  for  so  long. 

Jack  Byrne  was  horribly  disgusted  at  the  tame  manner 
in  which  the  victory  had  been  won.  The  old  man’s  life 
had  been  passed  in  the  arena : he  was  never  so  happy  as 
when  he  or  some  of  his  chosen  friends  were  on  the  verge 
of  conflict ; and  to  see  the  sponge  thrown  up  when  the 
boy  whom  he  had  trained  with  so  much  care,  and  on  whom 
he  placed  every  dependence,  was  about  to  meet  with  a 
foeman  worthy  of  his  steel,  who  would  take  an  immense 
deal  of  beating,  and  whom  it  would  be  a signal  honour  to 
vanquish,  annoyed  the  old  free  lance  beyond  measure.  It 
was  only  by  constantly  repeating  to  himself  that  his  boy, 
his  Walter,  whom  he  had  picked  up  starving  and  friend- 
less at  Bliff kins’s  coffee-house,  was  now  a member  of  Par- 
liament, with  the  opportunity  of  uttering  in  the  British 
senate  those  doctrines  which  he  had  so  often  thundered 
forth  amidst  the  vociferous  applause  of  the  club,  those 
opinions  with  which  he,  old  Jack  Byrne,  had  indoctrinated 
him,  that  he  was  able  to  perceive  that,  although  without 
any  grand  blaze  of  triumph,  a great  result  had  been 
achieved.  Mr.  Harrington,  too,  was  by  no  means  pleased 
that  all  his  jockeyship  should  have  been  thrown  away  on 
so  tame  an  event.  He  admitted  as  much  to  Mr.  South,  the 
local  agent,  who  was  mildly  rejoicing  in  the  bloodless 
victory,  and  who  was  grateful  for  the  accident  by  which 
success  had  been  secured.  Mr.  Harrington  entirely  dis- 
sented from  this  view  of  the  case.  “ I call  it  hard,”  he 
said,  “ deuced  hard,  that  when  I had  reduced  the  thing  to 
a moral,  when  I had  made  all  arrangements  for  a waiting 
race,  letting  the  other  side  go  ahead,  as  I knew  they 
would,  making  the  running  like  mad,  and  getting  pumped 
before  the  distance ; we  waiting  on  them  quietly,  and  then 
just  at  the  last  coming  with  a rush,  and  beating  them  on 
the  post, — I say  it  is  deuced  hard  when  a fellow  has  given 


TOO  LATE. 


379 


all  his  time  and  brains  to  arranging  this,  to  find  he’s 
reduced  to  a mere  w.  o.  To  be  sure,  as  you  say,  one 
collars  the  stakes  all  the  same,  but  still  it  ain’t  sport ! ” 

There  was  one  person,  however,  to  whom  the  know- 
ledge that  the  election  had  gone  off  flatly  was  delightful 
— Marian  Creswell.  As  she  had  stood  that  night  in  her 
dressing-gown,  with  her  dishevelled  hair  hanging  over 
her  shoulders,  listening  to  Dr.  Osborne’s  verdict  on  her 
husband’s  state,  she  had  seen  in  his  strongly  pronounced 
opinion  a safe,  plausible,  and  immediate  chance  of  escape 
from  that  most  dreaded  defeat  by  Walter  Joyce  at  the 
election ; and  though  she  had  apparently  received  the  de- 
cision with  deepest  regret,  she  was  inwardly  delighted. 
At  all  events,  there  would  be  no  absolute  victory.  Walter 
Joyce  could  not  go  away  and  tell  his  friends  in  the  great 
world  in  London  that  he  had  defeated  his  adversary.  No 
one  could  say  what  might  have  been  the  issue  of  the  con- 
test had  Mr.  Creswell’s  health  not  given  way ; and  Marian 
was  perfectly  confident  that  Walter’s  chivalrous  nature 
would  prevent  his  ever  mentioning  to  any  one  the  inter- 
view which  had  taken  place  between  him  and  her,  or 
what  passed  thereat.  On  the  whole,  it  was  the  best  thing 
that  could  have  happened  for  her.  She  had  for  some  time 
foreseen  that  there  was  no  chance  of  establishing  herself 
in  society  through  the  election  as  she  had  once  hoped ; 
and  anything  would  be  better  than  that  she  should  suffer 
defeat — absolute  defeat — in  a matter  which  she  had  so 
nearly  at  heart. 

Anything?  her  husband’s  illness,  dangerous  illness,  for 
instance?  Yes,  anything.  She  had  never  pretended  to 
herself  that  she  had  loved  Mr.  Creswell.  She  had  done 
her  duty  by  him  strictly,  even  to  casting  out  all  thoughts, 
all  remembrance,  of  the  lover  of  her  youth ; and  it  is  an 
odd  and  not  a very  gratifying  sign  of  the  weakness  of  the 
human  heart  to  think  that  Marian  had  frequently  taken 
credit  to  herself  for  the  sense  of  wifely  duty  which  had 


380 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


induced  her  to  eliminate  all  memories  of  early  days,  and 
all  recollections  of  Walter  Joyce,  from  her  mind.  Her 
husband  was  very  much  her  senior ; she  could  not  have 
hoped  that  he  would  live  very  long,  and  if  he  were  to  be 

removed There  was,  however,  no  question  of  that 

at  present.  Within  a few  days  of  the  attack  to  which  Dr. 
Osborne  had  been  called,  Mr.  Creswell  had  recovered  con- 
sciousness, and  gradually  had  so  far  mended  as  to  be  able 
to  take  interest  in  what  was  passing  round  him.  One  of 
his  first  expressed  wishes  was  to  see  Mr.  Benthall,  and 
when  that  gentleman,  who  was  very  much  touched  by  the 
sight  of  the  old  man’s  altered  expression,  and  wandering 
eyes,  and  strange  twitching  face,  was  left  alone  with  him, 
he  asked  hurriedly,  but  earnestly,  for  news  of  the  girls, 
his  nieces,  and  seemed  much  relieved  when  he  heard  they 
were  well  and  happy.  To  Marian  her  husband’s  manner 
was  wonderfully  altered.  He  was  kind  always,  occasion- 
ally affectionate,  but  he  seemed  to  have  lost  all  that  utter 
trust,  that  reliant  worship,  which  had  so  characterised  his 
attentions  to  her  in  the  early  days  of  their  marriage.  Of 
the  election  he  spoke  freely,  expressing  his  sorrow  for  the 
disappointment  which  his  friends  would  suffer  owing  to 
his  forced  defection,  and  his  pleasure  that,  since  a repre- 
sentative of  opposite  politics  must  necessarily  be  chosen, 
the  town  would  have  the  advantage  of  returning  a man 
with  the  high  character  which  he  had  heard  on  all  sides 
ascribed  to  Mr.  Joyce.  When,  on  the  evening  of  the 
nomination  day,  Mr.  Teesdale  waited  on  his  chief,  and  de- 
tailed to  him  all  that  had  taken  place,  dwelling  on  the 
mention  which  Joyce  had  made  of  his  absent  opponent, 
and  the  high  opinion  which  he  had  expressed  of  him,  the 
old  gentleman  was  very  much  moved,  and  sank  back  on 
his  pillows  perfectly  overcome.  Marian  by  no  means 
appreciated  Mr.  Teesdale  that  evening,  and  got  rid  of  him 
as  soon  as  possible.  She  was  much  pained  at  the  display 
of  what  she  considered  her  husband’s  weakness,  and  de- 


TOO  LATE. 


381 


termined  on  following  Dr.  Osborne’s  advice  as  to  removing 
liim  as  soon  as  he  was  able  to  travel.  It  was  noted  just  at 
that  time  that  Mrs.  Creswell  spoke  far  more  favourably  of 
her  husband’s  state  of  health  than  she  had  done  for  some 
time  previously,  and  betrayed  an  unmistakable  desire  to 
get  him  away  from  Brocksopp  neighbourhood  and  influ- 
ences without  delay. 

When  Dr.  Osborne  was  consulted  on  the  matter,  he 
said  that  as  the  election,  which  was  the  greatest  risk  of 
excitement  for  his  patient,  had  now  passed  by,  it  would 
depend  greatly  on  Mr.  Ores  well’s  own  feelings  and  wishes 
as  to  whether  he  should  leave  his  home.  A change  would 
most  probably  be  beneficial ; but  the  doctor  knew  that  his 
old  friend  had  always  been  wedded  to  his  home,  and  had 
a great  aversion  to  being  away  from  it  when  no  absolute 
necessity  for  his  absence  existed.  However,  Mr.  Creswell, 
when  appealed  to,  seemed  to  have  lost  any  vivid  interest 
in  this  as  in  all  other  matters  of  his  life.  He  answered, 
mechanically,  that  he  would  do  just  as  they  thought  best, 
that  he  had  no  feeling  one  way  or  the  other  about  it,  only 
let  them  decide.  He  said  this  in  the  wearied  tone  which 
had  now  become  habitual  to  him ; and  he  lpoked  at  them 
with  dim,  lustreless  eyes,  out  of  which  all  expression 
seemed  to  have  faded.  Dr.  Osborne  tried  to  rouse  him, 
but  with  such  little  success  that  he  began  to  think  Mr. 
Creswell’s  malady  must  have  made  rapid  progress ; and 
he  took  an  early  opportunity  of  submitting  him  to  another 
examination. 

Marian  was  not  aware  of  this.  She  met  the  doctor 
coming  out  of  her  husband’s  room.  They  were  on  semi- 
friendly terms  now,  and  she  said  to  him — 

“ I was  coming  to  you,  doctor,  this  afternoon.  I have 
just  settled  to  take  Mr.  Creswell  away  for  a few  weeks, 
but  of  course  I wanted  you  to  see  him  before  he  went. 
And  now  you  have  seen  him  ? ” 

“ Yes ; I have  just  left  him.” 


382 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


“ And  what  do  yon  say  ? ” 

“I  say  that  he  must  not  be  moved,  Mrs.  Creswell; 
that  he  mnst  remain  here  at  home,  with  every  comfort 
that  he  may  require,  and  that  he  must  be  carefully  watched 
and  tended  by  us  all.” 

“ Do  you  find  him  changed — for  the  worse?  I thought 

myself  that  I had  noticed  during  the  last  few  days 

Do  you  apprehend  any  immediate  danger  ? ” 

“ He  is  very  much  changed  for  the  worse ; the  disease 
has  made  great  progress,  and  if  he  were  suddenly  dis- 
turbed or  excited  I would  not  answer  for  the  conse- 
quences.” 

“I  did  right,  then,  in  refusing  Mr.  Teesdale  access  to 
him,  yesterday.  There  is  some  disputed  election  account, 
and  Mr.  Teesdale  was  most  urgent  to  see  Mr.  Creswell,  but 
I thought  it  better  to  prevent  him.” 

“ You  did  perfectly  right ; he  must  be  denied  to  every- 
body save  those  immediately  around  him,  and  all  matters 
of  business  and  anything  likely  to  excite  or  worry  him  in 
the  least  must  be  studiously  kept  from  him.” 

They  were  descending  the  stairs  as  the  doctor  spoke, 
and  in  the  hall  they  found  Mr.  Teesdale,  who  had  just 
ridden  up  in  hot  haste,  and  was  parleying  with  one  of  the 
servants.  He  took  off  his  hat  when  he  saw  Mrs.  Creswell 
and  the  doctor,  and  was  about  to  speak,  but  Marian  was 
before  him — “ I hope  you  are  not  again  wishing  to  see  my 
husband,  Mr.  Teesdale,  as  I shall  be  compelled  again  to 
refuse  you ! Dr.  Osborne  here  will  tell  you  that  I am 
acting  in  accordance  with  his  strict  orders.”  And  the 
doctor  then  repeated  to  the  agent  all  that  he  had  just  said 
to  Marian. 

“ It’s  an  uncommonly  vexatious  thing,”  said  Mr.  Tees- 
dale, when  the  doctor  had  concluded : “ of  course  it  can’t 
be  helped,  and  whatever  you  say  must  be  attended  to,  but 
it’s  horribly  annoying.” 

“ What  is  it  ? ” asked  Dr.  Osborne. 


TOO  LATE. 


383 

“A  matter  of  Ramsay’s,  that  truculent  brute  of  a fellow 
who  holds  the  White  Farm  down  Helmingham  way.  He’s 
made  a claim  that  I know  the  chief  wouldn’t  acknowledge, 
and  that  consequently  I daren’t  pay ; though,  knowing  the 
fellow  as  I do,  I’m  not  sure  it  wouldn’t  be  safest  and  best 
in  the  long  run.” 

“Why  don’t  you  act  on  your  own  responsibility,  then?” 
“ Not  I.  The  chief  had  a throw-up  with  this  man 
before,  and  declared  he  would  never  give  in  to  him  again. 
He’s  an  ill-conditioned  scoundrel,  and  vows  all  kind  of 
vengeance  if  he  isn’t  paid.” 

“ My  good  friend,”  said  the  doctor,  “ you  and  I know 
pretty  well  that  Mr.  Ores  well  is  able  to  laugh  at  the 
threatened  vengeance  of  a person  like  this  Mr.  Ramsay. 
I must  not  have  my  patient  disturbed  for  any  such 
matters.  Carry  on  the  business  yourself,  Teesdale.  I 
know  what  trust  Mr.  Creswell  places  in  you,  and  I know 
how  well  it  is  deserved.” 

“ Then  I shall  tell  Mr.  Ramsay  to  go  to ” 

“ Exactly,”  said  the  doctor,  interrupting.  “ You  could 
not  consign  him  to  more  fitting  company.” 

On  the  evening  of  the  second  day  from  this  colloquy, 
Marian  returned  from  a long  drive  in  heir  pony  carriage, 
during  which  her  thoughts  had  been  of  anything  but  a 
cheerful  character.  She  had  been  suffering  from  that 
horrible  sinking  of  heart  which  comes  sometimes,  we  know 
not  why,  bringing  with  it  the  impression  that  something, 
we  know  not  what,  save  that  it  is  unpleasant,  is  impending 
over  us.  When  she  alighted,  she  inquired  whether  Mr. 
Creswell  had  rung  for  anything,  and  whether  Dr.  Osborne 
had  called,  and  received  answers  in  the  negative  in  both 
cases.  A letter  marked  “ immediate  ” had  come  for  master, 
that  was  all.  A letter ! Where  was  it  ? Mr.  Barlow, 
the  butler,  had  taken  it  up  to  master’s  room,  the  valet 
being  out.  Marian  heard  of  the  arrival  of  this  letter  with 
a strange  sense  of  fear,  and  hurried  up  to  her  husband’s 
room. 


384 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


She  entered  noiselessly  and  advanced  quickly  to  the 
bed.  Mr.  Creswell  was  lying  back,  his  hands  clasped  in 
front  of  him,  his  eyes  closed,  his  face  very  gray  and  rigid. 
She  thought  at  first  that  he  was  dead,  and  half  screamed 
and  called  him  by  his  name,  but  then,  without  speaking, 
without  looking,  he  unclasped  his  hands,  pointed  to  a 
folded  paper  on  the  coverlet,  and  then  resumed  his  former 
position.  The  letter  ! She  took  it  up  and  read  it  eagerly. 
It  was  dated  from  the  White  Farm,  and  signed  John 
Eamsay.  It  commenced  with  setting  forth  his  claims  to 
money  which  was  due  to  him,  and  which  he  knew  would 
have  been  paid  “ had  the  squire  been  about,”  and  it  pro- 
ceeded to  revile  Mr.  Teesdale,  and  to  declare  that  he  was 
robbing  his  employer,  and  “feathering  his  own  nest.”  The 
last  paragraph  ran  thus — 

“ And  you  must  be  sharp  and  get  about  again,  squire, 
and  look  to  your  own.  You  are  bamboozled  and  cheated 
in  every  way  right  under  your  nose,  in  your  own  house, 
by  your  own  wife.  Why,  it’s  common  talk  in  the  town 
how  you  was  done  in  the  election  by  Mrs.  C.  She  had 
young  Joyce  for  a sweetheart  long  before  she  knew  you, 
when  he  was  a school  usher,  and  gave  him  the  sack  and 
threw  him  over  when  she  wanted  you  and  your  money, 
which  she  always  hankered  after,  and  took  on  with  him 
again  when  she  saw  him  down  here,  and  got  that  old  thief 
Osborne,  which  overcharges  the  poor  for  his  beastly  drugs, 
to  square  it  and  keep  you  out  of  the  fun.” 

As  Marian  read  and  re-read  this  paragraph  she  turned 
sick  at  heart  and  thought  she  should  have  fainted,  but  was 
recalled  to  herself  by  a cold  clammy  touch  on  her  wrist, 
and  looking  down  she  saw  her  husband’s  eyes  open  and  his 
lips  moving.  Standing  over  him  she  heard  him  say — “ Is 
it  true?” 

“ True ! how  can  you  ask  me  such  a question  ? I 
swear  it  is  not.” 

“No,  no,  not  the  last  part  of  course!  but  anv  of  it? 


TOO  LATE. 


385 


That  young  man — was  he  fond  of  you — were  you  en- 
gaged ? 55 

A bright  flush  suffused  her  face,  but  she  answered 
steadily,  “We  were.” 

“ And  what  made  you  break  with  him?  Why  did  you 
quarrel?  You  don’t  answer.  Is  the  letter  right?  Did 
you  give  him  up  for  me  ? Did  you  let  my  position,  my 
money,  weigh  more  with  you  than  his  love  and  his  heart  ? 
Did  you  do  this  ? ” 

“ And  suppose  I did — what  then  ? ” said  Marian,  with 
flashing  eyes — “ are  you  here  to  plead  his  cause  ? Have  I 
not  been  a dutiful  and  a proper  wife  to  you  ? You  yourself 
have  just  spoken  of  this  vile  slander  with  the  scorn  it 
deserves  ! Of  what  then  do  you  complain  ? ” 

“ Of  nothing.  I complain  of  nothing,  save  perhaps  of 
your  ignorance  of  me  ! Ah,  good  heavens  ! did  you  know 
me  so  little  as  to  think  that  your  happiness  was  not  my 
aim,  not  so  much  my  own  ? Did  you  not  know  that  my 
love  for  you  was  so  little  selfish,  that  if  I had  had  the  least 
dream  of  your  engagement  to  this  young  man,  I should 
have  taken  such  delight  in  forwarding  it  and  providing  for 
you  both  ? You  would  have  been  near  me  still,  you  would 

have  been  a daughter  to  me,  and Lift  me  up  ! the 

cordial — quick  ! ” and  he  fell  back  in  a faint. 

Dr.  Osborne  was  sent  for,  and  came  at  once,  but  it  was 
plain  to  all  that  Mr.  Creswell’s  end  was  at  hand.  He  had 
two  severe  paroxysms  of  pain,  and  then  lay  perfectly  still 
and  tranquil.  Marian  was  sitting  by  his  bedside,  and  in 
the  middle  of  the  night  she  felt  his  hand  plucking  at  the 
sleeve  of  her  gown.  She  roused  herself  and  looked  at 
him.  His  eyes  were  open,  and  there  was  a bright,  happy 
expression  on  his  thin  face.  His  mind  was  wandering  far 
away,  back  to  the  early  days  of  his  poverty  and  his 
struggles,  and  she  who  had  shared  both  was  with  him. 
He  pulled  Marian  to  him,  and  she  leaned  eagerly  forward ; 
but  it  was  not  of  her  he  was  thinking.  “ Jenny  ! ” ho 

2 c 


386 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


said,  and  his  tongue  reverted  to  the  old  familiar  dialect 
which  it  had  not  used  for  so  many  years — “ Jenny ! coom 
away,  lass  ! Taim’s  oop ! — that’s  t’  mill  "bell  ringin’  ! 
Thou’rt  a "brave  lass,  and  we’ve  had  hard  taim  of  it ; hut 
we’re  near  t’  end  now  ! Kiss  me,  J enny ! Always  good 
and  brave,  lass — always ” And  so  he  died. 


CHAPTER  XXXIY. 

FOR  ONCE  GERTRUDE  TAKES  THE  LEAD. 

The  lives  of  the  two  girls  at  Lady  Caroline’s  were  so 
completely  happy,  that  they  were  induced  to  doubt 
whether  they  had  ever  really  lived  before.  The  difference 
between  their  rackety,  disorderly,  Bohemian  existence 
while  their  father  was  alive,  the  pinched  and  poverty- 
stricken  home  which  they  shared  with  their  mother  until 
her  death,  and  the  refined  comforts  and  luxuries  which 
awaited  them  at  their  uncle’s,  was,  of  course,  very  great. 
But  they  were  too  young  to  feel  it  at  the  time,  and  they 
had  come  to  look  upon  Woolgreaves  as  their  home,  and 
until  Marian  Ashurst  entered  upon  it  as  its  mistress,  as 
an  epitome  of  everything  that  was  charming.  Lady 
Caroline’s  house  was  much  smaller  than  Woolgreaves  ; her 
income,  probably,  was  nothing  like  their  uncle’s ; and  yet 
about  her  house  and  her  servants,  her  carriage,  and 
everything  she  had,  there  was  a stamp  of  refinement  and 
of  good  taste,  springing  from  high  breeding,  such  as  they 
had  never  witnessed,  even  under  Mrs.  Creswell’s  regime; 
and  whatever  other  fault  the  girls  found  with  Mrs. 
Creswe'll,  they  invariably  allowed  her  the  possession  of 
good  taste.  And  Lady  Caroline  herself  was  so  different,  so 


FOR  ONCE  GERTRUDE  TAKES  THE  LEAD. 


387 


Immeasurably  superior  to  any  woman  they  had  ever  seen. 
With  the  exception  of  Lady  Churchill,  they  had  known  no 
one  save  the  village  people  and  the  wives  of  the  principal 
manufacturers  at  Brocksopp,  who  had  been  daughters  of 
other  principal  manufacturers  at  Shuttleworth  and  Comb- 
cardingham,  and  might  have  been  made  in  one  mould, 
or  punched  out  of  one  piece;  and  Lady  Churchill  was 
a stupid  old  woman  in  a brown  front,  who,  as  Gertrude 
knew,  said  44  obleege,”  and  44  apurn  55  for  apron,  and 
44  know-ledge,55  and  nearly  drove  you  mad  by  the  way  in 
which  she  stared  at  you,  and  rubbed  her  nose  with  a 
knitting-needle,  while  you  were  attempting  to  find 
conversation  for  her.  But,  in  the  girls5  eyes,  Lady  Caroline 
was  perfection ; and  it  would  have  been  indeed  odd  had 
they  not  thought  her  so,  as,  for  reasons  best  known  to 
herself,  she  went  in  more  determinedly  to  make  herself 
agreeable  to  them  than  she  had  done  to  any  one  for  some 
years  previous. 

One  reason  was  that  she  liked  the  girls,  and  was  agree- 
ably disappointed  in  them ; had  expected  to  find  them 
provincial  'par venues,  thrown  upon  her  by  their  quarrel 
with  a person  of  similar  position  and  disposition  with 
themselves,  and  had  found  them  quiet  lady-like  young 
women,  unpretentious,  unobtrusive,  and  thoroughly  grate- 
ful to  her  for  the  home  which  she  had  offered  them  in  their 
time  of  need.  From  the  step  which  she  had  taken  so 
chivalrously  Lady  Caroline  never  shrank,  but  she  told  the 
girls  plainly,  in  the  presence  of  Mr.  Joyce,  that  she  thought, 
it  highly  desirable  that  the  fact  of  their  being  there  as  her 
guests  should  be  officially  made  known  to  Mr.  Creswell,  to 
whom  every  consideration  was  duo.  As  to  Mrs.  Creswell, 
there  was  no  necessity  to  acknowledge  her  in  the  matter ; 
but  Mr.  Creswell  was  not  merely  their  nearest  blood 
relation,  but,  until  adverse  influences  had  been  brought  to 
bear  upon  him,  he  had  proved  himself  their  most  excellent 
friend ; and  even  at  the  last,  so  far  as  Lady  Carolino  could 


388 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


gather  from  Gertrude,  had  made  some  feeble  kind  of  fight 
against  their  leaving  his  house.  Mr.  Joyce  and  the  girls 
themselves  were  also  of  this  opinion,  Gertrude  jumping  at 
the  prospect  of  any  reconciliation  with  “ dear  old  uncle,” 
but  avowing  her  determination  to  have  nothing  more  to 
do  with  “ that  horrid  madam ; ” and  it  was  on  Maude’s 
suggestion,  backed  by  Walter,  that  the  services  of  Mr. 
Gould  were  employed  for  mediatory  purposes.  This  was 
just  before  the  election,  and  Mr.  Gould  declared  it  was 
utterly  impossible  for  him  to  attend  to  anything  that  did 
not  relate  to  blue  and  yellow  topics ; but  a little  later  he 
wrote  a very  kind  letter,  announcing  Mr.  Ores  well’s  illness, 
and  deploring  the  strict  necessity  for  keeping  from  the  old 
gentleman  any  subjects  of  an  exciting  nature. 

The  corroboration  of  this  bad  news  was  brought  to 
the  little  household  in  Chesterfield  Street  by  Mr.  Ben- 
thall,  who,  about  that  time,  ran  up  to  London  for  a week, 
and,  it  is  needless  to  say,  lost  very  little  time  in  present- 
ing himself  to  Miss  Gertrude.  The  relations  between 
the  Helmingham  schoolmaster  and  Gertrude  'Cres well 
were,  of  course,  perfectly  well  known  to  Lady  Caroline 
through  Walter  Joyce,  who  had  explained  to  her  lady- 
ship that  the  causeless  exclusion  of  Mr.  Benthall  from 
Woolgreaves  had  been  the  means  of  bringing  about  the 
final  domestic  catastrophe,  and  had  led  more  immediately 
than  anything  else  to  the  departure  of  the  young  ladies 
from  their  uncle’s  house.  So  that  Lady  Caroline  was 
predisposed  in  the  clergyman’s  favour,  and  the  predis- 
position was  by  no  means  decreased  when  she  made  his 
acquaintance,  and  found  him  to  be  one  of  the  Shrop- 
shire Benthalls,  people  of  excellent  family  (a  fact  which 
always  has  immense  weight  with  other  people  who  can 
make  the  same  boast),  and  essentially  a man  of  the  world 
and  of  society.  A girl  like  Gertrude  Creswell,  who, 
charming  though  she  was,  was  clearly  nobody,  might  think 
herself  lucky  in  getting  a man  of  family  to  marry  her. 


FOR  ONCE  GERTRUDE  TAKES  THE  LEAD. 


389 


Of  course,  Mrs.  Creswell  could  not  understand  that  kind  of 
thing,  and  took  a mere  pounds,  shillings,  and  pence  view  of 
the  question;  hut  Mrs.  Creswell  had  no  real  dominion  over 
her  husband’s  nieces,  and  as  that  husband  was  now  too  ill 
to  be  appealed  to,  and  the  girls  were  staying  under  her 
chaperonage,  she  should,  in  the  exercise  of  her  discretion, 
give  Mr.  Benthall  full  opportunity  for  seeing  as  much  of 
Gertrude  as  he  chose. 

Lady  Caroline  did  not  come  to  this  determination  with- 
out consulting  Walter  Joyce,  and  Walter  did  not  express 
his  opinion  without  consulting  Maude  Creswell,  of  whose 
elear  head  and  calm  common  sense  he  had  conceived  a high 
opinion.  The  joint  decision  being  favourable,  Mr.  Bent- 
hall  had  a very  happy  holiday  in  London,  finding,  if 
such  a thing  were  possible,  his  regard  for  Gertrude 
increased  by  the  scarcely  hidden  admiration  which  the 
bright  complexion,  pretty  hair,  and  trim  figure  of  the 
country  girl  evoked  from  the  passers-by  in  the  public 
places  to  which  he  escorted  her.  Indeed,  so  completely 
changed  by  an  honest  passion  for  an  honest  girl  was  this, 
at  one  time,  selfish  and  calculating  man  of  the  world,  that 
he  was  most  anxious  to  marry  Gertrude  at  once,  without 
any  question  of  settlement  or  reference  to  her  uncle, 
declaring  that,  however  Mrs.  Creswell  might  now  choose  to 
sneer  at  it,  the  school  income  had  maintained  a gentleman 
and  his  wife  before,  and  could  be  made  to  do  so  again. 

Mr.  Benthall  spoke  with  such  earnestness,  that  Joyce 
conceived  a much  higher  opinion  of  him  than  he  had 
hitherto  entertained,  and  would  have  counselled  Lady 
Caroline  to  lend  her  aid  to  the  accomplishment  of  the 
schoolmaster’s  wish,  had  it  not  been  for  Maude,  who 
pointed  out  that  in  such  a case  a reference  was  un- 
doubtedly due  to  their  uncle,  no  matter  what  might  be  his 
supposed  state  of  health.  If  he  were  really  too  ill  to  have 
the  matter  submitted  to  him,  and  an  answer — which,  of 
course,  would  be  unfavourable — were  to  be  received  from 


390 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


Mrs.  Creswell,  they  might  then  act  on  their  own  responsi- 
bility, with  the  feeling  that  they  had  done  their  duty 
towards  the  old  gentleman,  and  without  the  smallest  care 
as  to  what  his  wife  might  say. 

This  view  of  Maudes,  expressed  to  Joyce  with  much 
diffidence,  at  once  convinced  him  of  its  soundness,  and 
a little  conversation  with  those  most  interested  showed 
them  the  wisdom  of  adopting  it. 

Mr.  Benthall  wrote  a straightforward  manly  letter  to 
Mr.  Creswell,  ashing  consent  to  his  marriage  with  Gertrude. 
The  day  after  its  despatch,  Maude  the  impassible,  who  was 
reading  the  Times,  gave  a suppressed  shriek,  and  let  the 
paper  fall  to  the  ground.  Joyce,  who  was  sitting  close  by 
talking  to  Lady  Caroline,  picked  it  up,  and  read  in  it  the 
announcement  of  Mr.  Creswell’s  death. 

Of  course  this  news  caused  an  indefinite  postponement 
of  the  marriage.  The  two  girls  grieved  with  deep  and 
heartfelt  sorrow  for  the  loss  of  the  kind  old  man.  All 
little  differences  of  the  past  few  months  were  forgotten. 
Marian  had  no  part  in  their  thoughts,  which  were  all 
of  the  early  days,  when,  two  miserable  little  orphans,  they 
were  received  at  Woolgreaves,  at  once  put  into  the  position 
of  daughters  of  the  house,  and  where  their  every  wish  was 
studied  and  gratified. 

Gertrude’s  grief  was  especially  violent,  and  she  raved 
against  the  hard  fate  which  had  separated  them  from 
their  uncle  at  a time  when  they  would  have  so  much 
wished  to  have  been  near  him  to  minister  to  and  nurse 
him. 

Evidence  soon  came  that  Mr.  Creswell’s  "sense  of  what 
was  honourable  and  right  had  prevented  him  from 
allowing  any  recent  events  to  influence  his  intentions 
towards  his  nieces.  In  his  will  they  were  mentioned  as 
“ my  dearly  loved  Maude  and  Gertrude,  daughters  of  my 
deceased  brother  Thomas,  who  have  been  to  me  as  my  own 
daughters  during  the  greater  part  of  their  lives ; ” and  to 


FOR  ONCE  GERTRUDE  TAKES  THE  LEAD. 


891 


each  of  them  was  left  the  sum  of  ten  thousand  pounds  on 
their  coming  of  age  or  marriage.  There  were  a few 
legacies  to  old  servants  and  local  charities,  five  hundred 
pounds  each  to  Dr.  Osborne  and  Mr.  Teesdale,  his  two 
executors,  and  “all  the  rest  of  my  property,  real  and 
personal,  of  every  kind  whatsoever,  to  my  beloved  wife 
Marian.” 

“ And  my  beloved  wife  Marian  will  have  about  fifteen 
thousand  a year,  as  near  as  I can  fix  it,”  said  Mr.  Teesdale, 
as  he  left  Woolgreaves,  after  the  reading  of  the  will ; “ and 
if  the  railway  people  take  that  twenty  acres  off  that  infer- 
nal Jack  Ramsay’s  farm,  about  a couple  of  thou’  more ! ” 

It  was  not  to  be  supposed  that  Mr.  Benthall  professed 
himself  indifferent  to  the  splendid  legacy  which  Gertrude 
had  inherited.  As  he  had  been  willing  and  anxious  to 
take  her  for  herself,  and  to  share  what  he  had  with  her, 
so  he  was  very  much  pleased  to  find  that  their  future 
would  be  rendered  considerably  less  anxious,  and  more 
comfortable  than  they  had  anticipated,  and  in  his  honest 
open-hearted  way  he  did  not  scruple  to  say  so. 

The  death  of  their  uncle  did  not  make  any  difference 
in  the  course  of  the  girls’  lives.  They  still  remained  with 
Lady  Caroline,  whose  regard  for  them  seethed  to  increase 
daily ; and  it  was  understood  that  they  would  continue  to 
inhabit  Chesterfield  Street  until  Gertrude  was  married, 
and  that  after  that  event  Maude  would  frequently  return 
there,  making  it  her  London  home,  and  visiting  it  when- 
ever she  was  not  staying  with  her  sister.  So  at  least  Lady 
Caroline  proposed,  and  begged  Mr.  Benthall  to  make  the 
suggestion  to  Maude  at  the  first  convenient  opportunity. 
The  opportunity  occurred  very  shortly,  and  aroso  from 
Maude’s  saying,  when  they  were  sitting  together  one 
morning — 

“I  saw  Mr.  Joyce  yesterday,  George,  and  took  occasion 
to  ask  his  advice  on  that  matter.” 

“ And  what  might  that  matter  be,  Maude  ? There  are 


392 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


so  many  matters  of  importance  on  just  now,  that  you 
must  be  more  definite.” 

“ It  is  well  Gertrude  is  not  here  to  hear  you ! In  your 
present  condition  there  should  be  only  one  matter  of  any 
importance  to  you,  and  that  of  course  is ” 

“ Our  marriage — to  be  sure ! Well,  you  asked  Joyce — 
what  a wonderful  fellow  he  is,  by  the  way ; his  parlia- 
mentary business  does  not  seem  the  least  to  have  inter- 
fered with  his  writing,  and  with  it  all  he  seems  to  find 
time  to  come  up  here  two  or  three  times  a week.” 

“ He  has  the  highest  regard  for  Lady  Caroline,  and  the 
greatest  respect  for  her  judgment,”  said  Maude. 

“ Naturally,  so  have  we  all,”  said  Mr.  Benthall,  with  a 
gradually  spreading  smile. 

“ Yes ; but  Mr.  Joyce  consults  her  in — how  ridiculous 
you  are,  George ! you’re  always  saying  stupid  things  and 
forgetting  your  subject.  What  were  we  talking  about?” 

“ I like  that ; and  you  talk  about  forgetfulness  ! You 
were  saying  that  you  had  spoken  to  Mr.  J oyce  about  my 
marriage,  though  why  you  should  have ” 

“ Don’t  be  tiresome,  you  know  what  I mean ! He 
perfectly  agrees  with  you  in  thinking  there  is  no  necessity 
for  postponing  the  marriage  any  further.  Poor  uncle  has 
now  been  dead  three  months,  and  you  have  no  necessity  to 
consider  whether  Mrs.  Creswell  might  think  it  too  soon 
after  that  event  or  not ! ” 

“We  have  no  reason  to  be  bound  by  what  she  would 
say,  but  I think  it  would  be  only  right  in  Gertrude  to 
write  and  tell  her  that  the  wedding  is  about  to  take 
place.” 

“ That  you  and  Gertrude  must  settle  between  you. 

For  my  part,  I should  not  think  of However,  I 

confess  my  judgment  is  not  to  be  relied  on  when  that 
person  is  in  question.”  Then  she  added  in  a low  voice, 
and  more  as  if  speaking  to  herself,  “ How  strange  it  will 
seem  to  be  away  from  Gerty  ! ” 


FOR  ONCE  GERTRUDE  TAKES  THE  LEAD. 


393 


Benthall  heard  the  remark,  and  he  took  Maude’s  hand 
as  he  said,  “ But  you  won’t  be  away  from  her,  dear  Maude  ! 
We  have  all  of  us  talked  over  your  future,  and  Gertrude 
and  I hope  you  will  make  your  home  with  us,  though 
Lady  Caroline  insists  on  claiming  you  for  some  portion  of 
the  year.” 

“ You  are  all  of  you  very  good,  George,”  said  Maude ; 
“ you  know  how  much  I should  love  to  be  with  you  and 
Gerty,  and  what  gratitude  and  affection  I have  for  Lady 
Caroline.  But  I don’t  think  the  life  you  have  proposed 
would  exactty  suit  me.” 

“ Not  suit  you,  Maude  ? ” cried  Mr.  Benthall  in  aston- 
ishment ; “ why,  what  would  you  propose  to  do  ? ” 

“ I cannot  say  exactly,  though  I have  some  ideas  about 
it  which  I can’t  clearly  express.  You  see  I shall  never 
be  married,  George — don’t  laugh  at  me,  please,  I’m  speak- 
ing quite  seriously — and  there  is  this  large  sum  of  money 
which  uncle  left  me,  and  which  I don’t  think  should  be 
either  squandered  away  or  left  lying  idle ! ” 

“ Why,  my  dear,  what  on  earth  do  you  propose  to  do 
with  the  money  ? ” asked  practical  Mr.  Benthall. 

“ To  put  it  to  some  good  use,  I hope ; to  use  it  and  my 
own  time  and  services  in  doing  good,  in  benefiting  those 
who  need  it ” 

“ You’re  not  going  to  give  it  to  the  missionaries,  or 
any  rubbish  of  that  kind,  I trust,”  interrupted  Mr.  Bent- 
hall. “ Look  here,  Maude,  depend  upon  it Oh!  here’s 

her  ladyship,  don’t  say  a word  about  it  before  her.  Good 
morning,  Lady  Caroline  ! This  young  lady  and  I have 
been  discussing  the  propriety  of  writing  to  Mrs.  Creswell 
announcing  Gertrude’s  approaching  marriage.” 

“I  don’t  think  there  can  be  a doubt  as  to  the  pro- 
priety of  such  a course,”  said  Lady  Caroline.  “ Of  course, 
whatever  she  might  say  about  it  would  not  make  the 
slightest  difference  to  us.” 

“ Of  course  not.” 


394 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


“ But  I don’t  think  yon  need  fear  any  disagreeables. 
Mrs.  Creswell  is  in  a very  different  position  now  from  that 
which  she  held  when  she  thought  fit  to  behave  badly  to 
those  young  ladies,  and  their  relations  with  her  are  also 
quite  altered.  And  by  all  accounts  she  is  quite  sufficient 
woman  of  the  world  to  understand  and  appreciate  this.” 

Lady  Caroline  was  right.  In  reply  to  Gertrude’s 
letter  announcing  her  marriage,  came  a most  affectionate 
note  from  Marian  to  her  “dearest  Gertrude/’  congratu- 
lating her  most  heartily ; complimenting  her  on  her  choice 
of  a husband ; delighting  in  the  prospect  of  their  living 
so  near  to  her ; hoping  to  see  much  of  them ; regretting 
that  her  recent  bereavement  prevented  her  being  present 
at  the  ceremony,  or  having  it  take  place,  as  she  should  so 
much  have  wished,  at  Woolgreaves ; and  begging  permis- 
sion to  send  the  enclosed,  as  her  contribution,  to  aid  in  the 
setting  up  of  the  new  household ; and  the  enclosure  was 
a cheque  for  three  hundred  pounds. 

Mr.  Benthall  winced  a little  when  he  saw  the  cheque, 
and  Mr.  Joyce  gave  a very  grim  smile  when  hisv  friend 
informed  him  of  the  affair ; but  advised  Mr.  Benthall  to 
pocket  the  money,  which  Mr.  Benthall  did.  As  has  been 
said,  he  did  not  pretend  to  despise  money ; but  he  was 
essentially  a gentleman  in  his  notions  as  to  the  acceptance 
of  favours.  He  had  thought  several  times  about  that  con- 
versation with  Maude,  in  which  she  had  mentioned  the 
manner  in  which  she  had  wished  to  dispose  of  her  fortune 
and  her  future.  This  had  caused  Mr.  Benthall  some 
uneasiness  ; he  had  no  hankering  after  his  future  sister-in- 
law’s fortune ; there  was  nothing  he  would  have  liked  so 
much  as  to  see  her  happily  married ; but  he  did  not  like 
the  idea  of  the  money  being  foolishly  invested  in  useless 
charity  or  gotten  hold  of  by  pseudo-philanthropists.  A 
conversation  which  he  had  with  Gertrude  a few  days 
before  their  marriage  seemed,  however,  to  do  away  with 
all  his  fears,  and  render  him  perfectly  easy  in  his  mind 


FOR  ONCE  GERTRUDE  TAKES  THE  LEAD. 


395 


on  this  point.  A short  conversation  which  ended 
thus — 

“ And  you’re  sure  of  it,  Gerty  ?” 

“ Positive ! I’ve  thought  so  a long  time — now  I’m 
sure!  And  you  must  be  a great  goose,  George,  not  to 
have  noticed  it  yourself.” 

u I am  not  a great  goose,  and  I certainly  had  some 

suspicions  at  one  time ; but Well,  now,  that  would 

be  highly  satisfactory.” 

“ Do  you  think  there  is  anything  remaining  from — 
from  the  other  one,  George  ? ” 

“Prom  the  other  one?  You  mean  from  Mrs. 

Not  the  remotest  thought  of  her  even.” 

“ Well,  then,  it  rests  with  him  entirely.  Wouldn’t  it 
be  nice  for  them  both  ? ” 

“ It  would,  indeed — and  for  us  too.  Well,  we’ll  see 
what  can  be  done.” 

Enigmatical,  but  apparently  satisfactory. 

So  George  Benthall  and  Gertrude  Creswell  were 
married  at  St.  James’s  Church  in  Piccadilly,  by  the 
Eeverend  John  Bontein,  a High-Church  rector  of  a 
Worcestershire  parish,  and  an  old  college  chum  of  the 
bridegroom’s.  A very  quiet  wedding,  with  Maude  as  the 
sole  bridesmaid,  and  Joyce  as  best  man,  and  Lady  Caroline, 
and,  oddly  enough,  Lord  Hetherington,  who  had  just  come 
up  to  town  from  Westhope,  and,  calling  at  his  sister’s,  had 
learned  what  was  going  to  take  place,  and  thought  he 
should  like  to  see  it,  don’t’you  know  ? Had  never  been  at 
any  wedding  except  his  own,  and  didn’t  recollect  much 
about  that,  except  that — curious  thing,  never  should  forget 
it — when  he  went  into  the  vestry  to  sign  his  name,  or 
something  of  that  kind,  saw  surplice  hanging  up  behind 
the  door — thought  it  was  ghost,  or  something  of  that  kind 
— give  you  his  word  t So  the  little  earl  arrived  the  next 
morning  at  eleven  at  the  church,  and  took  his  placo  in  a 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


396 

pew  near  the  altar,  and  propped  his  ear  up  with  his  hand 
to  listen  to  the  marriage  service,  at  which  he  seemed  to  he 
much  affected.  When  the  ceremony  was  over,  he  joined 
the  party  in  the  vestry,  insisted  on  bestowing  a formal 
salute  upon  the  bride — Lady  Hetherington,  he  knew,  was 
safely  moored  at  Westhope — and,  as  some  recompense  for 
the  infliction,  he  clasped  on  Gertrude’s  arm  a very  hand- 
some bracelet,  as  his  bridal  gift.  No  bells,  no  bishop,  no 
fashionable  journal’s  chronicler,  minutely  noting  down  all 
that  took  place,  and  chronicling  the  names  of  “distinguished 
persons  present.”  Pew-opener  and  beadle  hearing  “my 
lord  ” and  “ her  ladyship  ” mentioned,  seeing  broughams, 
and  cockades,  and  other  signs  of  aristocracy  with  which 
they  are  familiar,  are  unable  to  reconcile  the  presence  of 
these  with  absence  of  outward  and  visible  signs  in  which 
great  ones  of  this  earth  delight ; and  conclude  either  that 
it  is  a runaway  match  winked  at  by  a portion  only  of  the 
family,  or  some  such  low  affair  as  the  union  of  the  tutor 
with  the  governess,  kindly  patronised  by  their  employers. 
A happy  wedding,  though — happier  far  than  most  which 
are  made  up  in  that  same  temple — love-match  founded  on 
long  knowledge  of  each  other,  not  hurried,  not  forced,  not 
mercenary ; no  question  of  love  in  a cottage  either,  and 
the  flight  of  Amor  through  the  window  concurrently  with 
the  entrance  of  the  wicked  man  of  the  drama — one  Turpis 
Egestas — through  the  door. 

Such  a marriage  promised  to  prove  a happy  one.  In 
its  early  days,  of  course,  everything  was  rose-coloured — 
those  days  when  Maude  went  down  to  stay  with  George 
-and  Gertrude  at  the  school,  and  when,  a little  later,  Walter 
Joyce  ran  down  for  the  Easter  holidays  to  his  old  quarters. 
He  was  glad  of  the  chance  of  seeing  them  once  again,  he 
said,  and  determined  to  avail  himself  of  it ; and  then 
George  Benthall  looked  in  his  face  and  smiled  knowingly. 
Walter  returned  the  grin,  and  added : “ For  it’s  a chance 
that  may  not  happen  to  me  again.”  And  when  his  friend 


FOR  ONCE  GERTRUDE  TAKES  THE  LEAD. 


397 


looked  rather  blank  at  this,  and  asked  him  what  he  meant, 
Joyce  laughed  again,  and  finally  told  him  that  Lord  Hether- 
ington  had  just  had  a piece  of  patronage  fall  to  his  share 
— the  rectory  of  Newmanton-by-Perringden,  a lovely  place 
in  the  Isle  of  Wight,  where  the  stipend  was  not  sufficiently 
great  to  allow  a man  with  a large  family  to  live  on  it,  but 
the  exact  place  for  a parson  with  a little  money  of  his 
own.  And  Lord  Hetherington  had  inquired  of  Joyce 
whether  his  friend,  that  remarkably  pleasant  fellow, — 
bless  my  soul,  forget  my  own  name  next!  him  we  saw 
married,  don’t  you  know? — whether  he  was  not  exactly 
the  sort  of  fellow  for  this  place,  and  would  he  like  it  ? 
Walter  thought  that  he  was  and  he  would ; and  Lord 
Hetherington,  knowing  Joyce  was  going  down  to  see  his 
friend,  bid  him  inquire,  and  if  all  were  straight,  assure 
Mr.  Benthall  that  the  living  was  his. 

And  this  was  how  Walter  Joyce  executed  his  com- 
mission, and  this  was  how  George  Benthall  heard  this 
most  acceptable  news. 

“ By  the  way,  what  made  you  grin,  Benthall,  when  I 
said  I had  come  down  here  for  my  holiday  to  look  at  my 
old  quarters?”  asked  Walter. 

“ Because  I thought  there  might  be  yet  another  reason 
which  you  had  not  stated.  Anxiety  to  see  some  one  here ! ” 
“ Anxiety  is  the  wrong  word.  Strong  wish  to  see  you 

and  your  wife  again,  and ” 

“ My  wife  and  I are  out  of  the  affair ! Come,  con- 
fess!” 

“ I give  you  my  honour  I don’t  know  what  you  mean.” 
“Likely  enough;  but  I’m  older  than  you,  and,  parson 
though  I am,  I declare  I think  I’ve  seen  more  of  the  world. 
Shall  I tell  you  what  brought  you  down  here?  I shall ! — 
then  I will ! — to  see  Maude  Ores  well.” 

“Maude  Creswell ! What  on  earth  should  I — what — 
why — I mean — what,  is  Miss  Creswell  gone  ? ” 

“ Simply  the  woman  who  thinks  more  about  you  than 


398 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


any  other  creature  on  earth.  Simply  the  girl  who  is 
raving — head  over  ears  in  love  with  you.  Don’t  pretend 
you  don’t  know  it.  Natural  instinct  is  too  strong  to  allow 
any  doubt  upon  that  point.” 

“ I swear  you  surprise  me  beyond  belief ! I swear 

that Do  you  mean  this,  Benthall  ? ” 

“ As  a gentleman  and  a Christian,  I’ve  told  you  what 
I believe ; and  as  a man  of  the  world,  I tell  you  what  I 
think,  whether  wittingly  or  unwittingly,  you  are  very  far 
gone  in  returning  the  young  lady’s  sentiments ! ” 

“I — that  is — there’s  no  doubt  she  is  a girl  of  very 
superior  mind,  and — by  Jove,  Benthall,  you’ve  given  a most 
singular  twist  to  my  holiday  ! ” 


CHAPTER  XXXY. 

LADY  CAROLINE  ADVISES  ON  A DELICATE  SUBJECT. 

The  communication  which  Mr.  Benthall,  in  his  bluff  off- 
hand manner,  had  made  to  Walter  Joyce,  had  surprised  the 
latter  very  much  and  embarrassed  him  not  a little.  Ever 
since  the  receipt  of  Marian  Ashurst’s  letter  announcing 
her  intention  of  marrying  Mr.  Creswell — ever  since  the 
subsequent  interview  with  Lady  Caroline,  in  which  she 
counselled  him  to  discharge  the  subject  from  his  mind,  to 
encourage  new  hopes,  and  to  cultivate  aspirations  of  a 
different  kind — Joyce  had  lived  absolutely  free  from  any 
iufluence  of  “ the  cruel  madness  of  love,  the  poison  of 
honey  flowers,  and  all  the  measureless  ill.”  All  his 
thoughts  had  been  given  up  to  labour  and  ambition,  and, 
with  the  exception  of  his  deep-rooted  and  genuine  regard 
for  Lady  Caroline,  and  his  friendly  liking  for  the  Creswell 


LADY  CAROLINE  ADVISES  ON  A DELICATE  SUBJECT.  399 

girls,  he  entertained  no  feeling  for  any  woman  living, 
unless  a suspicion  of  and  an  aversion  to  Marian  Ores  well 
might  he  so  taken  into  account.  Had  he  this  special 
partiality  for  Maude  Creswell,  of  which  Benthall  had 
spoken  so  plainly  ? He  set  to  work  to  catechise  himself, 
to  look  hack  through  the  events  of  the  past  few  months, 
noting  what  he  remembered  of  their  relations  to  each 
other. 

Yes,  he  had  seen  a great  deal  of  Maude;  he  re- 
membered very  frequent  occasions  on  which  they  had  been 
thrown  together.  He  had  not  noticed  it  at  the  time  ; 
it  seemed  to  come  naturally  enough.  Gertrude,  of  course, 
was  engaged  with  Benthall  when  he  was  in  town — in 
writing  to  him  or  thinking  of  him  when  he  was  away — 
and  Lady  Caroline  had  to  go  through  all  the  hard  work 
which  fell  upon  a great  lady  in  society — work  the  amount 
of  which  can  only  be  appreciated  by  those  who  have 
performed  it  or  seen  it  performed.  So  that,  as  Joyce  then 
recollected,  he  and  Maude  had  been  thrown  a great  deal 
together,  and,  as  he  further  recollected,  they  had  had  a 
great  many  discussions  on  topics  very  far  removed  from 
the  mere  ordinary  frivolity  of  society  falk;  and  he  had 
noticed  that  she  seemed  to  have  clear  ideas  which  she 
understood  how  to  express.  What  an  odd  thing,  that— 
what  Benthall  said — had  never  struck  him  before  ! It 
must  have  been  patent  to  other  people,  though ; and  that 
put  the  matter,  unpleasantly,  in  rather  a ridiculous  light. 
After  all,  though,  what  was  there  ridiculous  in  it  ? Maude 
was  a very  handsome  girl,  a clever  girl,  and  an  unmis- 
takable lady.  What  a pretty,  slight,  girlish  figure  she 
had ! — such  a graceful  outline  ! — her  head  was  well  posed 
upon  her  neck!  And  Joyce  smiled  as  he  found  himself 
drawing  lines  in  the  air  with  the  paper-knife  which  ho 
had  been  idly  tossing  in  his  hand. 

And  ho  had  Benthall’s  assurance  that  the  girl  cared  for 
him — that  was  something.  Benthall  was  a man  careful 


400 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


in  the  extreme  as  to  what  he  said,  and  he  would  not  have 
made  such  a statement  where  a girl  was  concerned,  and 
that  girl  his  own  sister-in-law,  unless  he  was  tolerably 
certain  of  being  right.  His  own  sister-in-law  ; he  had  it 
then,  of  course,  from  Gertrude,  who  was  Maude’s  second 
self,  and  would  know  all  about  it.  It  was  satisfactory  to 
know  that  there  was  a woman  in  the  world  who  cared  for 
him,  and  though  without  the  smallest  particle  of  vanity  he 
accepted  the  belief  very  readily,  for  his  rejection  by  Marian 
Ashurst  and  the  indignity  which  he  had  suffered  at  her 
hands  had  by  no  means  rendered  him  generally  cynical  or 
suspicious  of  the  sex.  Marian  Ashurst ! what  an  age  ago 
it  seemed  since  the  days  when  the  mention  of  that  name 
would  have  sent  the  blood  flowing  in  his  cheek,  and  his 
heart  thumping  audibly,  and  now  here  he  was  staying  in 
the  old  house  where  all  the  love  scenes  had  taken  place, 
walking  round  the  garden  where  all  the  soft  words  had 
been  spoken,  all  the  vows  made  which  she  had  thrown  to 
the  winds  when  the  last  parting,  with  what  he  then  and 
for  so  long  afterwards  thought  its  never-to-be-forgotten 
agony,  had  occuired,  and  [he  had  not  felt  one  "single  extra 
palpitation.  Mrs.  Creswell  was  staying  away  from  Wool- 
greaves  just  then,  at  some  inland  watering-place,  for  the 
benefit  of  her  health,  which  it  wras  said  had  suffered 
somewhat  from  her  constant  attendance  on  her  husband, 
or  Joyce  might  have  met  her.  Such  a meeting  would  not 
have  caused  him  an  emotion.  When  he  had  encountered 
her  in  the  lane,  during  the  canvassing  time,  there  was  yet 
lingering  within  his  breast  a remembrance  of  the  great 
wrong  she  had  done  him,  and  that  was  fanned  into 
additional  fury  by  the  nature  of  her  request  and  the 
insolence  with  which  she  made  it.  But  all  those  feelings 
had  died  out  now,  and  were  he  then,  he  thought,  to  come 
across  Marian  Creswell’s  path,  she  would  be  to  him  as  the 
merest  stranger,  and  no  more. 

If  he  were  to  marry,  he  knew  of  no  one  more  likely  to 


LADY  CAROLINE  ADVISES  ON  A DELICATE  SUBJECT.  401 

suit  him  in  all  ways  than  Maude.  Pretty  to  look  at, 
clever  to  talk  to,  sufficiently  accustomed  to  him  and  his 
ways  of  life,  she  would  make  him  a far  better  wife  than 
nine-tenths  of  the  young  ladies  he  was  accustomed  to  meet 
in  such  little  society  as  he  could  spare  the  time  to  cultivate. 
Why  should  he  marry  at  all?  He  answered  the  question 
almost  as  soon  as  he  asked  it.  His  life  wanted  brighten- 
ing, wanted  refining,  was  at  present  too  narrow  and 
confined  ; all  his  hopes,  thoughts,  and  aspirations  were 
centred  on  himself.  He  was  all  wrong.  There  should  be 
some  one  who — the  chambers  were  confoundedly  dreary 
too,  when  he  came  home  to  them  from  the  office  or  the 
House;  he  should  travel  somewhere  abroad  when  the 
House  rose,  he  thought,  and  it  would  be  dull  work  moving 
about  by  himself,  and — 

What  pretty  earnest  eyes  Maude  had,  and  shining  hair, 
and  delicate  “ bred  ’’-looking  hands  ! She  certainly  was 
wonderfully  nice,  and  if,  as  Benthall  avowed,  she  really 

eared  for  him,  he Who  was  this  coming  to  break  in 

on  his  pleasant  day-dream  ? Oh,  Gertrude. 

“ I was  wondering  where  you  were,  Mr.  Joyce  ! You 
said  you  wanted  your  holiday,  and  you  seem  to  be  passing 
it  in  slumber  ! ” 

“ Nothing  so  commonplace,  Mrs.  Benthall.” 

“ One  moment,  why  do  you  call  me  Mrs.  Benthall  ? 
What  has  made  you  so  formal  and  ridiculous  all  of  a 
sudden  ? You  used  to  call  me  Gertrude,  in  London  ? ” 
“Yes,  but  then  you  were  an  unmarried  girl ; now  you 
are  a wedded  woman,  and  there’s  a certain  amount  of 
respect  due  to  matronhood.” 

“ What  nonsense  ! Do  call  me  Gertrude  again,  please  ; 
Mrs.  Benthall  sounds  so  horrid ! I should  like  the  boarders 
here  in  the  house  to  call  me  Gertrude,  only  George  says  it- 
wouldn’t  be  proper  ! And  so  you  weren’t  asleep  ? ” 

“ Not  the  least  bit ! Although  I’m  ready  to  allow  X 
was  dreaming.’’  0 


402 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


“ Dreaming ! — what  about  ? ” 

“ About  the  old  days  which  I spent  in  this  place — and 
their  association ! ” 

“ Oh  yes,  I know — I mean  to  say ” 

“No,  no,  Gertrude,  say  what  you  had  on  your  lips, 
then!  No  prevarication,  and  no  hesitation — what  was 
it?” 

“ No,  really,  nothing — it  is  only 55 

“ I insist ! ” 

“Well,  what  I mean  to  say  is — of  course,  people  will 
talk  in  a village,  you  know — and  we’ve  heard  about  your 
engagement,  you  know,  and  how  it  was  broken  off,  and 
how  badly  you  were  treated,  and — oh,  how  silly  I was  to 
say  a word  about  it ! I’m  sure  George  would  be  horribly 
cross  if  he  knew  ! ” 

“ And  did  you  imagine  I was  grizzling  over  my  past, 
cursing  the  day  when  I first  saw  the  faithless  fair,  and 
indulging  in  other  poetic  rhapsodies  ! My  dear  Gertrude, 
it’s  not  a pleasant  thing  being  jilted ; but  one  lives  to  get 
over  it  and  forget  all  about  it,  even  to  forgive  her  whom 
I believe  it  is  correct  to  call  the  false  one  ! ” , 

“Yes,  I dare  say!  In  fact,  George  and  Maude  both 

said  you  didn’t  think  anything  about  it  now,  and ” 

“ Maude  ! did  she  know  of  it  too  ? ” 

“ Oh  yes,  we  all  knew  of  it ! The  old  woman  who  had 
been  housekeeper,  or  cook,  or  something  here  in  the  old 

Ashurst’s  time,  told  George,  and ” 

“ What  did  Maude  say  about  it?  ” interrupted  Joyce. 
“She  said — I forget  what!  No!  I recollect!  she  said 
that — that  Mrs.  C reswell  was  just  the  sort  of  woman  that 
would  fail  to  appreciate  you  ! ” 

“ That  may  be  taken  in  two  senses — as  a compliment 
or  otherwise,”  said  Joyce,  laughing. 

“ I’m  sure  Maude  means  it  nicely,”  said  Gertrude 
earnestly.  Then  added,  “ By  the  way,  I wanted  to  talk  to 
you  about  Maude,  Mr.  Joyce.” 


LADY  CAROLINE  ADVISES  ON  A DELICATE  SUBJECT.  403 

“ About  Maude  ! ” said  Walter.  Then  thought  to  him- 
self, “Is  it  possible  that  the  seeds  of  match-making  are 
already  developing  themselves  in  this  three  months’  old 
matron  ? ” 

“ Yes.  I don’t  think  George  mentioned  it  to  you,  but 
he  had  a talk  with  Maude,  just  before  our  marriage,  about 
her  future.  George,  of  course,  told  her  that  our  house 
would  be  her  home,  her  permanent  home  I mean ; and  he 
gave  her  the  kindest  message  from  Lady  Caroline,  who 
bargained  that  at  least  a portion  of  the  year  should  be 
spent  with  her.” 

“ What  did  your  sister  say  to  that  ? ” 

“ Well,  she  was  much  obliged  and  all  that ; but  she  did 
not  seem  inclined  to  settle  down.  She  has  some  horrible 
notions  about  duty  and  that  sort  of  thing,  and  thinks  her 
money  has  been  given  to  her  to  do  good  with ; and  George 
is  afraid  she  would  get  what  he  calls  ‘ let  in  ’ by  some  of 
those  dreadful  hypocritical  people,  and  we  want  you  to 
talk  to  her  and  reason  her  out  of  it.” 

<£  I ? Why  I,  my  dear  Gertrude  ? ” 

“ Because  she  believes  in  you  so  much  more  than  in 
anybody  else,  and  is  so  much  more  likely  to  do  what  you 
advise  her.” 

“ She  pays  me  a great  compliment,”  said  Joyce, 
rising,  “ and  I’ll  see  what’s  to  be  done.  The  first  thing,  I 
think,  is  to  consult  Lady  Caroline,  who  would  be  sure 
to  give  good  advice.  I shall  see  her  to-morrow,  and 

111 ” 

“ See  Lady  Caroline  to-morrow  ! I thought  you  were 
not  going  back  till  Saturday  ? ” 

“ I’ve  just  thought  of  some  special  business  about 
which  I must  see  Lady  Caroline  at  once,  and  I’ll  mention 
this  at  the  same  time.  Now,  let  us  find  George.  Como 
for  a turn.” 

They  found  George  and  went  for  their  turn,  and  when 
their  turn  was  over,  and  Gertrude  was  alone  with  her 


404 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


husband,  she  told  him  the  conversation  which  she  had  had 
with  Walter  Joyce.  The  schoolmaster  laughed  heartily. 

“Ton  my  word,  Gerty,”  he  said,  “match-making 
appears  to  be  your  forte,  born  and  bred  in  you ! I never 
believed  in  the  reality  of  those  old  dowagers  in  Mrs.  Trol- 
lope’s novels,  until  I saw  you.” 

“ Well,  I declare,  George,  you  are  complimentary  ! old 
dowagers,  indeed  ! But,  seriously,  I wish  Walter  wasn’t 
going  to  Lady  Caroline ! ” 

“ Why,  what  on  earth  has  that  to  do  with  it  ? ” 

“ Well,  I mean  speaking  in  Maude’s  interest ! ” 

“ Why,  one  would  think  that  Lady  Caroline  was  in 
love  with  Walter  Joyce  herself ! ” 

“ Exactly  ! ” 

“ Why — why — you  don’t  think  so,  my  dear  ? ” 

“ I’m  sure  so,  my  dear  ! ” 

And,  as  response,  the  Beverend  George  Benthall 
whistled  in  a loud  and  unclerical  manner. 

When  Walter  Joyce  arrived  in  Chesterfield  Street,  he 
found  Lady  Caroline  was  absent — passing  the  holidays 
with  Lord  and  Lady  Hetherington  at  Westhope — and, 
after  a little  hesitation,  he  determined  to  go  down  there 
and  see  her.  He  had  not  seen  anything  of  the  Hethering- 
tons  since  his  election  : his  lordship  was  occupied  with 
some  new  fad  which  kept  him  in  the  country,  and  her 
ladyship  did  not  care  to  come  to  town  until  after  Easter. 
Lord  Hetherington  had  viewed  the  progress  of  his  ex-sec- 
retary with  great  satisfaction.  His  recollections  of  Joyce 
were  all  pleasant ; the  young  man  had  done  his  work  care- 
fully and  cleverly,  had  always  been  gentlemanly  and 
unobtrusive,  and  had  behaved  deuced  well — point  of  fact, 
deuced  well — brave,  and  all  that  kind  of  thing — in  that 
matter  of  saving  Car’line  on  the  ice.  Her  ladyship’s  feel- 
ings were  very  different.  She  disliked  self-made  people 
more  than  any  others,  and  those  who  were  reckoned  clever 


LADY  CAROLINE  ADVISES  ON  A DELICATE  SUBJECT.  405 

were  specially  obnoxious  to  her.  She  had  heard  much, 
a great  deal  too  much,  of  Joyce  from  Mr.  Gould,  who,  in 
his  occasional  visits,  delighted  in  dilating  on  his  recent 
foeman’s  abilities,  eloquence,  and  pluck,  partly  because  he 
respected  such  qualities  wherever  he  met  with  them,  but 
principally  because  he  knew  that  such  comments  were 
very  aggravating  to  Lady  Hetherington  (no  great  favourite 
of  his)  ; and  she  was  not  more  favourably  disposed  towards 
him,  because  he  had  adopted  political  principles  diametri- 
cally opposed  to  those  which  she  believed.  But  what 
actuated  her  most  in  her  ill-feeling  towards  Mr.  Joyce  was 
a fear  that,  now  that  he  had  obtained  a certain  position,  he 
might  aspire  to  Lady  Caroline  Mansergh,  who,  as  Lady 
Hetherington  always  suspected,  would  be  by  no  means 
indisposed  to  accept  him.  Hitherto  the  difference  in  their 
social  status  had  rendered  any  such  proceeding  thoroughly 
unlikely.  A tutor,  or  a — what  did  they  call  it  ? — reporter 
to  a newspaper,  could  scarcely  have  the  impertinence  to 
propose  for  an  earl’s  sister ; but,  as  a member  of  Parlia- 
ment, the  man  enjoyed  a position  in  society,  and  nothing 
could  be  said  against  him  on  that  score.  There  was  Lady 
Violet  Magnier,  Lord  Haughtonforest’s  daughter.  Well, 
Mr.  Magnier  sold  ribbons,  and  pocket-handkerchiefs  and 
things,  in  the  City ; but  then  he  was  member  for  some 
place,  and  was  very  rich,  and  it  was  looked  upon  as  a veiy 
good  match  for  Lady  Violet.  Mr.  Joyce  was  just  the  man 
to  assert  himself  in  a highly  disagreeable  manner;  he 
always  held  views  about  the  supremacy  of  intellect,  and 
that  kind  of  rubbish ; and  the  more  he  kept  away  from 
them,  the  less  chance  he  would  have  of  exercising  any 
influence  over  Lady  Caroline  Mansergh. 

It  may  be  imagined,  then,  that  her  ladyship  was  not 
best  pleased  when  her  sister-in-law  informed  her  that  she 
had  had  a telegram  from  Walter  Joyce,  asking  whether  he 
might  come  down  to  Westhope  to  see  her  on  special  busi- 
ness, and  that  she  “ supposed  Margaret  had  no  objection.” 


406 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


Margaret  liad  strong  objections,  but  did  not  think  it 
politic  to  say  so  just  then,  so  merely  intimated  that  she 
would  be  happy  to  see  Mr.  Joyce  whenever  he  chose  to 
come. 

The  tone  in  which  this  intimation  was  conveyed  was 
so  little  pleasing  to  Lady  Caroline,  that  she  took  care  to 
impress  on  her  sister-in-law  the  fact  that  Joyce’s  visit  was 
to  her,  Lady  Caroline,  and  that  she  had  merely  mentioned 
his  coming  as  a matter  of  politeness  to  her  hostess,  which 
did  not  tend  to  increase  Lady  Hetherington’s  regard  for 
Walter  Joyce. 

But  the  bien-seances  were  never  neglected  on  account 
of  any  personal  feeling;  and  when  Joyce  arrived  at  the 
station,  he  recognised  the  familiar  livery  on  the  platform, 
and  found  a carriage  in  waiting  to  convey  him  to  West- 
hope. 

During  the  drive  he  occupied  himself  in  thinking  over 
the  wondrous  changes  which  had  taken  place  since  his  first 
visit  to  that  neighbourhood,  when,  with  a wardrobe  pro- 
vided by  old  Jack  Byrne,  and  a scanty  purse  supplied 
from  the  same  source,  he  had  come  down  in  a dependent 
position,  not  knowing  any  of  those  amongst  whom  his  lot 
in  life  was  to  be  passed,  and  without  the  least  idea  as  to 
the  kind  of  treatment  he  might  expect  at  their  hands. 
That  treatment,  he  knew,  would  have  been  very  different 
had  it  not  been  for  Lady  Caroline  Mansergh.  But  for  her 
counsel,  too,  he  would  have  suffered  himself  to  have 
remained  completely  crushed  and  vanquished  by  Marian 
Ashurst’s  conduct,  would  have  subsided  into  a mere 
drudge  without  energy  or  hope.  Yes,  all  the  good  in  his 
life  he  owed  to  the  friendship,  to  the  kindly  promptings 
of  that  sweetest  and  best  of  women.  He  felt  that 
thoroughly,  and  yet  it  never  struck  him  that  in  asking 
her  to  advise  him  as  to  his  marriage  with  some  one  else, 
he  was  committing,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  a solecism.  The 
axiom  which  declares  that  the  cleverest  men  have  the 


LADY  CAROLINE  ADVISES  ON  A DELICATE  SUBJECT.  407 


smallest  amount  of  common  sense,  has  a "broader  founda- 
tion than  is  generally  believed. 

On  his  arrival  at  Westhope,  Joyce  was  informed  by 
the  butler  that  Lord  Hetherington  had  gone  round  the 
Home  Farm  with  the  bailiff,  and  that  her  ladyship  was 
out  driving,  but  that  they  would  both  be  home  to 
luncheon,  when  they  expected  the  pleasure  of  his  com- 
pany ; meanwhile  would  he  walk  into  the  library,  where 
Lady  Caroline  Manser gh  would  join  him  ? He  went  into 
the  library,  and  had  just  looked  round  the  room  and 
viewed  his  old  associations — glanced  at  the  desk  where  he 
had  sat  working  away  for  so  many  hours  at  a stretch,  at 
the  big  tomes  whence  he  had  extracted  the  subject-matter 
for  that  great  historical  work,  still,  alas ! incomplete — at 
the  line  of  Shakespearean  volumes  which  formed  Lady 
Caroline  Mansergh’s  private  reading — when  the  door 
opened,  and  Lady  Caroline  came  in.  Country  air  had  not 
had  its  usual  beneficial  effect,  Joyce  thought  as  he  looked 
at  her ; for  her  face  was  very  pale,  and  her  manner 
nervous  and  odd.  Yet  she  shook  him  warmly  by  the 
hand,  and  bade  him  be  seated  in  her  old  cheery  tone. 

“It  is  very  good  of  you  to  let  me  come  down  here, 
breaking  in  upon  the  rest  which  I hav$  no  doubt  you 
want,  and  boring  you  with  my  own  private  affairs,”  said 
Joyce,  seating  himself  in  the  window-sill  close  by  tho 
armchair  which  Lady  Caroline  had  taken. 

“It  is  not  very  good  of  you  to  talk  conventionalities, 
and  to  pretend  that  you  don’t  know  I have  a deep  interest 
in  all  that  concerns  you,”  replied  Lady  Caroline. 

“ I have  every  reason  to  know  it,  and  my  last  words 
were  merely  a foolish  utterance  of  society  talk ” 

“ Which  you  always  declare  to  despise,  and  which  you 
know  I detest.” 

“ Quite  true ; think  it  unspoken  and  absolve  me.” 

“I  do ; but  if  we  are  to  have  what  you  used  to  call  a 
* business  talk,’  we  must  have  it  at  once.  In  half  an 


408 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


hour  Lord  and  Lady  Hetlierington  and  tlie  luncheon  will 
arrive  simultaneously,  and  our  chance  is  at  an  end.  And 
you  did  not  come  from  London,  I suppose,  to  discuss 
tenant-right,  or  to  listen  to  Lady  Hetherington’s  diatribes 
against  servants  ? ” 

“ No,  indeed ; with  all  deference  to  them,  I came  to 
see  you,  and  you  alone,  to  ask  your  advice,  and  to  take  it, 
which  is  quite  a different  thing,  as  I have  done  before  in 
momentous  periods  of  my  life.” 

“ And  this  is  a momentous  period  ? ” 

“ Undoubtedly — as  much,  if  not  more  so,  than  any.” 

Had  she  any  notion  of  what  was  coming  ? Her  pale 
face  grew  paler ; she  pushed  back  the  rippling  tresses  of 
her  chestnut  hair,  and  her  large  eyes  were  fixed  on  him 
in  grave  attention. 

“ You  alone  of  any  one  in  the  world,  man  or  woman, 
know  the  exact  story  of  my  first  love.  You  knew  my 
confidence  and  trust,  you  knew  how  they  were  abused. 
You  saw  how  I suffered  at  the  time,  and  you  cannot  be 
ignorant  of  what  is  absolute  fact ; that  to  your  advice  and 
encouragement  I owe  not  merely  recovery  from  that 
wretched  state,  but  the  position  to  which  I have  since 
attained ! ” 

“ Well?” 

“ That  first  love  fell  dead — you  know  when  ! Ambi- 
tion, the  passion  that  supplied  its  place,  was  sufficient  for 
a time  to  absorb  all  my  thoughts,  hopes,  and  energies. 
But,  to  a certain  extent  it  has  been  gratified,  and  it 
suffices  me  no  longer.  My  heart  wants  some  one  to  love, 
and  turns  to  one  to  whom  it  owes  gratitude,  but  whom  it 
would  sooner  meet  with  a warmer  feeling.  Are  you  not 
well,  Lady  Caroline  ? ” 

“ Quite  well,  thanks,  and — and  interested.  Pray  go 
on!” 

“ To  go  on  is  difficult.  It  is  so  horrible  in  a man  to 
have  to  say  that  he  sees  he  has  awakened  interest  in  a 


LADY  CAROLINE  ADVISES  ON  A DELICATE  SUBJECT.  409 

woman,  that  she  shows  all  unknowingly  to  herself,  but 
still  sufficiently  palpable,  that  he  is  the  one  person  in  the 
world  to  her,  that  she  rejoices  in  his  presence,  and  grieves 
at  his  absence ; worst  of  all,  that  all,  this  is  pointed  out  to 
him  by  other  people ” 

Lady  Caroline’s  cheeks  flushed  as  she  echoed  the  words* 
“ Pointed  out  to  him  by  other  people  ! ” 

“ Exactly.  That’s  the  worst  of  it.  However,  all  this 
being  so,  and  my  feelings  such  as  I have  described,  I 
presume  I shouldn’t  be  repeating  my  former  error — in- 
viting a repetition  of  my  previous  fate — in  asking  her  to 
be  my  wife  ? ” 

“I — I should  think  not.”  The  flush  still  in  her 
cheeks.  “ Do  I know  the  lady  ? ” 

“ Do  you  know  her  ? No  one  knows  her  so  well ! ” 
The  flush  deeper  than  ever.  “ Ah,  Lady  Caroline,  kindest 
and  dearest  of  friends,  why  should  I keep  you  longer  in 
suspense  ? It  is  Maude  Creswell ! ” 

Her  face  blanched  in  an  instant.  Her  grasp  tightened 
rigidly  over  the  arm  of  the  chair  on  which  it  lay,  but  she 
gave  no  other  sign  of  emotion.  Even  her  voice,  though 
hollow  and  metallic,  never  shook  as  she  repeated  the 
name,  “ Maude  Creswell ! ” 

“Yes.  Maude  Creswell!  You  are  surprised,  I see, 
but  I don’t  think  you  will  blame  me  for  my  choice  ! She 

is  eminently  ladylike,  and  clever,  and  nice,  and ” 

“ I don’t  think  you  could  possibly What  is  it, 

Thomas  ? ” 

“ Luncheon,  my  lady.” 

“ Very  well.  I must  get  you  to  go  in  to  luncheon 
without  me,  Mr.  Joyce;  you  will  find  Lord  and  Lady 
Hetherington  in  the  dining-room,  and  I will  come  down 
directly.  We  will  resume  our  talk  afterwards.” 

And  she  left  the  room,  and  walked  swiftly  and  not  too- 
steadily  up  the  hall  towards  tho  staircase. 


410 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

NIGHT  AND  MORNING. 

Both  Lord  and  Lady  Hetherington  were  in  the  dining- 
room when  Joyce  entered,  the  former  with  his  brown 
velveteen  suit  splashed  and  clay-stained,  and  his  thick 
boots  rich  with  the  spoil  of  many  a furrow  (he  was  bitten 
with  a farming  and  agricultural  mania  just  then),  and  the 
latter  calm  and  collected  as  Walter  ever  remembered  her. 
She  received  the  visitor  with  perfect  politeness,  expressed 
in  a few  well-chosen  sentences  her  pleasure  at  seeing  him 
again  and  the  satisfaction  with  which  she  had  learned  of 
his  improved  position ; then,  after  scanning  him  with 
rather  a searching  glance,  she  turned  to  the  footman,  and 
asked  where  was  Lady  Caroline,  and  whether  she  knew 
luncheon  was  ready.  Joyce  replied  for  the  man.  Lady 
Caroline  had  heard  the  announcement  of  luncheon,  but 
had  asked  him  to  come  in  by  himself,  saying  she  would 
follow  directly.  Her  ladyship  had  gone  up  to  her  room, 
the  footman  added;  he  did  not  think  her  ladyship  was 
very  well.  The  footman  was  new  to  Westhope,  or  he 
would  have  known  that  the  domestics  of  that  establish- 
ment were  never  allowed  to  think,  or  at  least  were  expected 
to  keep  their  thoughts  to  themselves. 

Lady  Hetherington  of  course  ignored  the  footman’s 
remark  entirely,  but  addressed  herself  to  Joyce. 

“ I hope  you  did  not  bring  down  any  ill  news  for  Lady 
Caroline,  Mr.  Joyce?” 

“ Not  I,  indeed,  Lady  Hetherington.  I merely  came 
to  ask  her  ladyship’s  advice  on — well,  on  a matter  of 
business.” 

“ In  which  she  was  interested  ? ” 

“ No,  indeed  ! I was  selfish  enough  to  lay  before  her 


NIGHT  AND  MORNING. 


411 


a matter  in  which  my  own  interests  were  alone  con- 
cerned.” 

“ Ah ! ” said  Lady  Hetherington,  with  a sigh  of  relief, 
“ I was  afraid  it  might  be  some  business  in  wdiich  she 
would  have  to  involve  herself  for  other  people,  and  really 
she  is  such  an  extraordinary  woman,  constituting  herself 
chaperone  to  two  young  women  who  may  be  very  well  in 
their  way,  I dare  say,  but  whom  nobody  ever  heard  of,  and 
doing  such  odd  things,  but — however,  that’s  all  right.” 

Her  ladyship  subsiding,  his  lordship  here  had  a chance 
of  expressing  his  delight  at  his  ex-secretary’s  advancement, 
which  he  did  warmly,  but  in  his  own  peculiar  way.  So 
Joyce  had  gone  into  Parliament ; right,  quite  right,  but 
wrong  side,  hey,  hey  ? Eadicals  and  those  sort  of  fellows, 
hey  ? Republic  and  that  sort  of  thing ! Like  all  young 
men,  make  mistakes,  hey,  but  know  better  soon,  and  come 
round.  Live  to  see  him  in  the  Carlton  yet.  Knew-  where 
he  picked  up  those  atrocious  doctrines — didn’t  mind  his 
calling  them  atrocious,  hey,  hey  ? — from  Byrne ; strange 
man,  clever  man,  deuced  clever,  well  read,  and  all  that 
kind  of  thing,  but  desperate  free-thinker.  Thistlewood, 
Wolfestone,  and  that  kind  of  thing.  Never  live  to  see  him 
in  the  Carlton.  No,  of  course  not ; not  the  place  for  him. 
Recollect  the  Chronicles?  Ah,  of  course ; deuced  interestin’, 
all  that  stuff  that — that  I wrote  then,  wasn’t  it  ? Had  not 
made  much  progress  since.  So  taken  up  with  farmin’  and 
that  kind  of  thing ; must  take  him  into  the  park  before 
he  left,  and  show  him  some  alterations  just  going  to  bo 
made,  which  would  be  an  immense  improvement,  immenso 
imp Oh,  here  was  Lady  Caroline  ! 

What  did  that  idiotic  footman  mean  by  saying  ho 
thought  Lady  Caroline  was  not  well  ? She  came  in  look- 
ing radiant,  and  took  her  seat  at  the  table  with  all  her 
usual  composure.  Lady  Hetherington  looked  at  her  in 
surprise,  and  said — 

“ Anything  the  matter,  Caroline  ? ” 


412 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


“ The  matter,  Margaret ! Nothing  in  the  world. 
Why?” 

“ You  told  Mr.  Joyce  to  come  in  to  luncheon  without 
you,  and  Thomas  said  you  had  gone  upstairs.  I feared 
you  had  one  of  your  faint  attacks.” 

“Thanks  for  your  sympathy.  No!  I knew  Mr.  Joyce 
would  be  leaving  almost  directly  after  luncheon,  and  I had 
a letter  to  write  which  I want  him  to  be  good  enough  to 
take  to  town  for  me.  So  I seized  the  only  chance  I had 
and  ran  off  to  write  it.” 

“ Deuced  odd  that ! ” said  Lord  Hetherington  ; “ here’s 
British  post-office,  greatest  institution  in  the  country. 
Lowland  Hill,  and  that  kind  of  thing ; take  your  letters 
everywhere  for  a penny — penny,  by  Jove,  and  yet  you’ll 
always  find  women  want  fellows  to  make  postmen  of  them- 
selves, and  carry  their  letters  themselves.” 

“ This  is  a special  letter,  West,”  said  Lady  Caroline. 
“You  don’t  understand.” 

“ Oh  yes,  I do,”  said  his  lordship  with  a chuckle, 
“women’s  letters  all  special  letters,  hey,  hey?  order  to 
the  haberdasher  for  a yard  of  ribbon,  line  to  Mitchell’s  for 
stalls  at  the  play — all  special,  hey,  Mr.  J oyce,  hey  ? ” 

When  luncheon  was  over  Joyce  imagined  that  Lady 
Caroline  would  return  with  him  to  the  library  and  then 
renew  their  conversation.  He  was  accordingly  much  sur- 
prised when  she  suggested  to  Lord  Hetherington  that  he 
should  show  Mr.  Joyce  the  alterations  which  were  about 
to  be  made  in  the  park.  His  lordship  was  only  too  glad 
to  be  mounted  on  his  hobby,  and  away  they  went,  not 
returning  until  it  was  time  for  Joyce  to  start  for  the 
station.  He  did  not  see  Lady  Hetherington  again,  but 
his  lordship,  in  great  delight  at  the  manner  in  which  his 
agricultural  discourse  had  been  listened  to,  was  very  warm 
in  his  adieux,  and  expressed  his  hope  that  they  would 
meet  in  town.  “ Politics  always  laid  aside  at  the  dinner- 
table,  Mr.  Joyce,  hey,  hey?” 


NIGHT  AND  MORNING. 


413 


And  Lady  Caroline,  after  bidding  him  farewell,  placed 
a note  in  his  hand,  saying,  “ This  was  the  letter  I spoke 
of.” 

He  glanced  at  it  and  saw  it  was  addressed  to  himself, 
and  the  next  instant  the  carriage  started.  Addressed  to 
himself ! Did  she  not  say  at  luncheon  that  she  had  been 
writing  a note  which  she  wanted  him  to  take  to  town  for 
her,  and — and  yet  there  was  the  address,  Walter  Joyce, 
Esq.,  in  her  bold  firm  hand.  There  must  be  an  enclosure 
which  he  was  to  deliver  or  to  post. 

And  then  he  did  what  he  might  have  done  at  first — 
broke  open  the  seal  of  the  envelope  and  took  out  the 
contents.  One  sheet  of  note  paper,  with  these  words — 

“ I think  you  will  be  doing  rightly  in  acting  as  you 
propose.  Miss  Creswell  is  handsome,  clever,  and  ex- 
ceptionally ‘ thorough.’  From  what  I have  seen  of  her 
I should  think  she  would  make  you  an  excellent  helpmate, 
and  you  know  I should  not  say  this  were  I not  tolerably 
certain  about  it.  I may  not  see  you  again  for  a few 
weeks,  as  I detest  this  specially  cold  spring,  and  shall 
probably  run  away  to  Torquay,  or  perhaps  even  to  Nice, 
but  letters  to  Chesterfield  Street  will  always  find  me,  and 
I shall  always  have  the  warmest  and  deepest  interest  in 
your  welfare.  Good-bye.  0.  M.” 

“ She  is  a woman  of  extraordinary  mental  calibre,” 
said  Joyce  to  himself,  as  he  refolded  the  note  and  placed 
it  in  his  pocket.  “ She  grasps  a subject  immediately, 
thinks  it  through  at  once,  and  writes  an  unmistakable 
opinion  in  a few  terse  lines.  A wonderful  woman  ! I’ve 
no  doubt  she  had  made  up  her  mind,  and  had  written  that 
note  before  she  came  down  to  luncheon,  though  she  did 
not  give  it  to  me  until  just  now.” 

Walter  Joyce  was  wrong.  The  interval  between 
leaving  him  and  her  arrival  in  the  dining-room  had  been 


414 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


passed  by  Lady  Caroline  on  her  bed,  where  she  fell,  prone, 
as  the  door  closed  behind  her.  She  lay  there,  her  face 
buried  in  the  pillow,  her  hands  tightly  clasped  behind  her 
head,  her  hair  escaped  from  its  knot  and  creeping  down 
her  back,  her  heart  beating  wildly.  Ah,  what  minutes  of 
agony  and  humiliation,  of  disappointment  and  self-con- 
tempt ! It  had  come  upon  her  very  suddenly,  and  had 
found  her  unprepared.  She  had  never  dared  to  analyse 
her  feeling  for  Joyce;  knew  of  its  existence,  but  did  not 
know  or  would  not  admit  to  herself  what  it  was.  Tried 
to  persuade  herself  that  it  was  “ interest  ” in  him,  but 
laughed  contemptuously  at  the  poor  deceit  when  she 
found  her  heart  beating  double  pace  as  she  read  of  his 
progress  at  the  election,  or  her  cheek  flaming  and  her 
lip  quivering  as  she  did  battle  against  Lady  Hethering- 
ton’s  occasional  impertinences  about  him.  Those  were  the 
signs  of  something  more  than  interest — of  love,  real,  un- 
mistakable passion.  What  a future  might  it  not  have 
been  for  her  ? She  had  respected  her  first  husband  for  his 
kindness,  his  confidence,  his  equable  temper.  She  would 
have  respected  this  man  too — respected  him  for  his  talent, 
his  bravery,  his  skill  and  courage  with  which  he  had 
fought  the  great  battle  of  life ; but  she  would  have  loved 
him  too — loved  him  with  that  wild  passion,  with  that  deep 
devotion.  For  the  first  time  in  her  life  she  had  learned 
what  it  was  to  love,  and  learned  it  too  late.  On  those 
few  occasions  when  she  had  dared  to  reveal  to  herself  what 
was  hidden  in  the  inmost  recesses  of  her  soul,  she  had 
come  to  the  conclusion  that  though  the  happiness  for 
which  she  pined  would  never  be  realised — and  she  never 
concealed  from  herself  the  improbability  of  that — yet  she 
should  always  hold  the  first  position  in  his  thoughts.  The 
bitter  disappointment  which  he  had  suffered  at  Miss 
Ashurst’s  hands  had,  she  thought,  effectually  extinguished 
all  idea  of  marriage  in  his  mind.  And  now  he  came  to 
her — to  her  of  all  women  in  the  world — to  tell  her  of  his 


NIGHT  AND  MORNING. 


415 


loneliness,  his  want  of  some  one  to  sympathise  with  and 
be  his  companion,  and  to  ask  her  advice  as  regarded  his 
selection  of  Maude  Creswell ! It  was  too  hard  upon  her, 
too  much  for  her  to  bear  this.  A score  of  schemes  flashed 
through  her  brain.  Suppose  she  were  to  temporise  with 
this  question?  A word  from  her  would  make  Joyce  defer 
taking  any  steps  in  the  matter  for  the  present,  and  in  the 
interval  she  could  easily  let  him  see  how  she — the  state  of 

her Ah,  the  shame,  the  wretched  humiliation  ! Was 

she  bewitched,  or  was  she  in  sober  seriousness — she, 
Caroline  Mansergh,  whose  pride  as  Caroline  West  was  a 
byword — was  she  going  to  throw  herself  at  the  head  of 
a man  who  had  not  only  never  shown  any  intention  of  pro- 
posing to  her,  but  had  actually  come  to  consult  her  about 
his  marriage  with  another  woman!  It  was  impossible. 
Noblesse  oblige.  Lady  Caroline  West’s  pride,  dormant  and 
overlaid  with  other  passions,  yet  lived  in  Lady  Caroline 
Mansergh,  and  asserted  itself  in  time.  She  rose  from  the 
bed,  bathed  her  face,  adjusted  her  hair,  poured  some  sal- 
volatile  in  a glass  with  a shaking  hand,  and  swallowed  it 
through  her  set  teeth,  then  went  down  to  luncheon,  as  we 
have  seen.  She  expressly  avoided  any  chance  of  future 
conversation  with  Walter,  and  the  note  was  written  while 
he  was  out  with  Lord  Hetherington. 

Of  course,  Walter  Joyce  was  utterly  ignorant  of  Lady 
Caroline’s  feelings.  As  she  hid  them  from  herself  as 
much  as  possible,  it  was  unlikely  that  she  would  suffer 
him  to  catch  the  smallest  inkling  of  them ; and  it  is  very 
questionable  whether,  had  his  powers  of  divination  been 
infinitely  stronger  than  they  were,  ho  would  have  under- 
stood them.  The  one  spark  of  romance  with  which  nature 
had  endowed  him  had  been  completely  stamped  out  by 
Marian  Ashurst,  and  the  rest  of  his  organisation  was 
commonplace  naturally,  and  made  more  commonplaco  by 
practical  experience  of  the  world.  Ho  wondered  Lady 
Caroline  had  not  arranged  to  have  a further  talk  with 


416 


WRECKED  IN  FORT. 


him.  She  had  left  him,  or  rather  they  had  been  inter- 
rupted just  at  the  critical  moment,  just  when  he  had  told 
her  the  object  of  his  visit ; and  it  was  odd,  to  say  the  least 
of  it,  that  she  did  not  seek  an  early  opportunity  for  letting 
him  know  her  opinion  on  the  really  weighty  question  on 
which  he  had  consulted  her.  And  yet  she  always  knew 
best ; no  doubt  she  thought  it  was  essential  that  he  should 
please  Lord  Hetherington,  who  was  evidently  bent  on 
showing  him  those  alterations,  and,  perhaps,  she  thought, 
too,  that  he  might  like  to  have  her  answer  in  writing  to 
refer  to  on  occasion.  What  a capital  answer  it  was  ! He 
pulled  it  out  of  his  pocket,  and  looked  at  it  again,  so  clear 
and  concise  and  positive.  His  excellent  helpmate.  Yes, 
that  was  what  he  wanted.  How  exactly  she  appreciated 
him ! Eunning  to  Torquay  or  Nice  ? What  a funny 
thing  ! He  had  never  heard  her  complain  of  being  affected 
by  the  cold  before,  and — however  she  approved  of  his 
intentions  in  regard  to  Maude  Creswell — that  was  the 
great  point.  So  ruminated  Walter  Joyce,  the  hard-headed 
and  practical,  sliding  gradually  into  a hundred  other 
thoughts  of  work  to  be  done  and  schemes  to  be  looked 
into,  and  people  to  be  seen,  with  which  he  was  so  much 
engaged  that,  until  he  reached  London,  both  Maude  and 
Lady  Caroline  wTere  fairly  obliterated  from  his  mind. 

He  slept  at  his  chambers  that  night,  and  went  down  to 
Helmingham  the  next  day.  There  was  a station  now  at 
the  village,  and  it  was  here  that  Joyce  alighted,  not  merely 
because  it  was  more  convenient  than  going  to  Brocksopp, 
but  because  it  saved  him  the  annoyance  of  having  to  run 
the  gauntlet  of  a walk  through  the  midst  of  his  con- 
stituency, every  other  member  of  which  had  a complaint 
to  make  or  a petition  to  prefer.  The  Helmingham  people, 
of  course,  were  immensely  impressed  by  the  sight  of  a 
man  who,  originally  known  to  them  as  pursuing  the  mys- 
terious profession  of  a Schoolmaster,  had  grown  into  that 
yet  more  inscrutable  being,  a Member  of  Parliament ; but 


NIGHT  AND  MORNING. 


417 


their  wonderment  was  simply  expressed  in  gaping  and 
staring.  They  kept  their  distance  peasant-like,  and  never 
dreamed  of  button-holing  their  member,  as  did  the  Brock- 
soppians.  The  road  that  led  from  the  station  to  the 
village  skirted  the  wall  of  the  school-garden.  It  was  a 
low  wall,  and  looking  over  it,  Joyce  saw  Maude  Creswell 
tying  up  a creeper  which  was  trained  round  the  study 
window.  Her  attitude  was  pretty,  a sunbeam  shone  on 
her  hatless  head,  and  the  exertion  given  to  her  task  had 
brought  a bright  colour  to  her  usually  pale  face.  Never 
before  had  she  looked  so  attractive  in  Joyce’s  eyes.  He 
dismissed  from  his  mind  the  interesting  question  of  com- 
pulsory education  for  factory  children,  which  he  had  been 
revolving  therein  for  the  last  hour  and  a half,  and  quick- 
ened his  pace  towards  the  house. 

Maude  was  in  the  study  when  he  entered.  The  flush 
had  left  her  face,  but  returned  when  she  saw  him.  He 
advanced  and  took  her  hand. 

“ So  soon  back  ! ” she  cried.  “ When  I came  down 
yesterday,  they  told  me  you  had  gone  to  town,  and 
probably  would  not  return  ; and  I was  so  horribly  vexed  ! ” 
“ Were  you?  That’s  kind  of  you,  indeed  ! ” 

44  Well,  you  know — I mean ” 1 

44  What  you  say.  I believe  that  firmly,  for  you  have 
the  credit  of  being  quite  unconventional.  No,  I merely 
went  to  London  on  business,  and  that  finished  I returned 
at  once.  Where  is  your  sister  ? ” 

“ Out.” 

44  And  her  husband  ? ” 

44  How  can  you  ask  such  a question  ? With  her,  of 
course.  They  have  gone  to  pay  a visit.” 

a A visit ; where  ? I — I beg  your  pardon ; how  very 
rude  of  me  to  ask  such  a question ! What  a tell-tale  face 
you  have,  Miss  Cresswell ! I saw  the  rudeness  I had 
committed  by  your  expression.” 

44  You  give  mo  credit  for  more  power  than  I possess* 

2 E 


418 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


There  was  no  rudeness  in  your  asking.  They  have  gone 
to  Woolgreaves.” 

“ To  Woolgreaves ! ” 

“ Yes.  Mrs.  Creswell  called  here  two  days  ago — the 
day  yon  went  to  London ; bnt  Gertrude  and  George  were 
out,  so  she  left  a note  stating  she  was  very  anxious  to  see 
them,  and  they  have  gone  over  there  to-day.  They  had 
no  notion  you  would  have  come  down,  or  they  would  not 
have  gone.  I am  so  sorry  they  are  not  here.” 

“ I confess  I am  not.” 

“ Not  sorry ! That’s  not  polite.  Why  are  you  not 
sorry  ? ” 

“ Because  I wanted  to  talk  to  you.” 

“ To  me?” 

“ Yes,  to  you.  I’ve  something  to  consult  you  about,  in 
relation  to  my  recent  visit  to  town;  rather  a difficult 
matter,  but  I have  all  faith  in  your  good  judgment.” 

“I’m  afraid  you  rate  my  judgment  too  highly,  Mr. 
Joyce;  but  at  all  events,  you  may  be  assured  of  my 
answering  you  honestly,  and  to  the  best  of  my  power.” 

“ That  is  all  I ask.  That  granted,  I can  make  sure  of 
the  rest.  And  really  it  is  not  such  a great  matter  after 
all.  Only  a little  advice;  but  such  advice  as  only  a 
woman — more  than  that,  only  a peculiar  kind  of  woman — 
can  give.” 

“ Do  I fulfil  the  requirements  ? ” 

“ Exactly.” 

“ Then  proceed  at  once ; and  I will  promise  to  answer 
exactly  as  I think.” 

“Well,  then,  I have  a friend,  about  my  own  age,  of 
sufficiently  mean  birth,  whose  father  was  a man  of  re- 
stricted views  and  small  mind,  both  cramped  and  narrowed 
by  the  doctrines  of  the  religions  sect  to  which  he  belonged, 
but  whose  mother  was  an  angel.  Unfortunately  the 
mother  died  too  soon  after  the  boy’s  birth  to  be  of  much 
good  to  him,  beyond  leaving  him  the  recollection  of  her 


NIGHT  AND  MORNING. 


419 


sweet  face  and  voice  and  influence — a recollection  which, 
he  cherishes  to  this  day.  After  his  wife’s  death  the  boy’s 
father  became  more  and  more  imbued  with  the  sectarian 
doctrines,  an  undue  observance  of  which  had  already  had 
its  effect  in  his  home,  and,  dying  shortly  after,  left  his 
son  almost  unprovided  for,  and  friendless,  save  in  such 
friendship  as  the  lad  might  have  made  for  himself.  This, 
however,  proved  sufficient.  The  master  of  the  school  at 
which  the  lad  attended  took  great  interest  in  him,  half- 
adopted  him  as  it  were,  and,  when  4he  youth  was  old 
enough,  took  him  as  his  assistant  in  the  school.  This 
would  have  met  my  friend’s  views  sufficiently — for  he  was 
a plodding,  hardworking  fellow — had  he  had  no  other 
motive ; but  he  had  another  : he  was  in  love  [with  the 
schoolmaster’s  daughter,  and  she  returned  the  passion. 
Am  I wearying  you  with  this  rigmarole  ? ” 

“ You  know  you  are  not.  Please  go  on ! ” 

“ So  they  proceeded  in  their  Arcadian  simplicity,  until 
the  schoolmaster  died,  leaving  his  wife  and  daughter  un- 
provided for ; and  my  friend  had  to  go  out  into  the  world 
to  seek  his  fortune — to  seek  his  bread  rather,  I should  say 
— bread  to  be  shared,  as  soon  as  he  had  found  enough  of  it, 
with  his  betrothed.  But  while  he  was  floundering  away, 
throwing  out  a grappling-iron  here  and  there,  striving  to 
attach  himself  to  something  where  bread  was  to  be  earned, 
the  young  lady  had  a slice  of  cake  offered  to  her,  and,  as 
she  had  always  preferred  cake  to  bread,  she  accepted  it  at 
once,  and  thought  no  more  of  the  man  who  was  hunting 
so  eagerly  for  penny  rolls  for  her  sake.  You  follow  me  ? ” 

“ Yes,  yes ! Pray  go  on  ! ” 

“ Well,  I’m  nearly  at  the  end  of  my  story  ! When  my 
friend  found  that  the  only  person  in  the  world  which  was 
dear  to  him  had  treated  him  so  basely  he  thought  ho 
should  die,  and  he  said  he  should,  but  ho  didn’t.  Ho 
suffered  frightfully ; he  never  attempts  to  deny  that, 
though  there  was  an  end  of  all  things  for  him ; that  life 


420 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


was  henceforth  a blank,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  for 
which  see  the  circulating  library.  And  he  recovered ; he 
threw  himself  into  the  penny-roll  hunting  with  greater 
vigour  than  ever,  and  he  succeeded  wonderfully.  For  a 
time,  whenever  his  thoughts  turned  towards  the  woman 
who  had  treated  him  so  shamefully,  had  jilted  him  so 
heartlessly,  he  was  fall  of  anger  and  hopes  for  revenge, 
but  that  period  passed  away,  and  the  desire  to  improve  his 
position,  and  to  make  progress  in  the  work  which  he  had 
undertaken,  occupied  all  his  attention.  Then  he  found 
that  this  was  not  sufficient;  that  his  heart  yearned  for 
some  one  to  love,  for  some  one  to  be  loved  by,  and  he 
found  that  some  one,  but  he  did  not  ask  her  to  become  his 
wife ! ” 

“ He  did  not.  Why  not  ? ” 

“ Because  he  was  afraid  her  mind  might  have  been 
poisoned  by  some  warped  story  of  his  former  engagement, 
some- — - ” 

“ Could  he  swear  to  her  that  his  story— as  you  have 
told  it  to  me — is  true  ? ” 

“ He  could,  and  he  would ! ” 

“ Then  she  -would  not  be  worthy  of  his  love  if  she 
refused  to  believe  him  ! ” 

“ Ah,  Maude,  dearest  and  best,  is  there  any  need  to 
involve  the  story  further ; have  you  not  known  its  mean- 
ing from  the  outset  ? Heart  whole  and  intact,  I offer  you 
my  hand,  and  swear  to  do  my  best  to  make  the  rest  of  our 
lives  happy  if  you  take  it.  You  don’t  answer.  Ah,  I 
don’t  want  you  to.  Thanks,  dear,  a thousand  times  for 
giving  me  a new,  fresh,  worthy  interest  in  life ! ” 

“You  here,  Mr.  Joyce?  Why,  when  did  you  get 
back?” 

“ Half  an  hour  since,  Gertrude.  You  did  not  expect 
me,  I hear ! ” 

“ Certainly  not,  or  we  shouldn’t  have  gone  out.  And 
we  did  no  good  after  all.” 


NIGHT  AND  MORNING. 


421 


“ No  good  ? How  do  you  mean  ? ” 

“ Oh,  madam  was  out.  However,  bother  madam.  Did 
you  see  Lady  Caroline  ? ” 

“ I did.” 

“And  did  you  settle  about  Maude’s  staying  with  us?” 
“No” 

“ Nor  about  her  going  to  her  ladyship’s?  ” 

“No” 

“ Why,  what  on  earth  w’as  the  use  of  your  going  to 
town  ? What  have  you  settled  ? ” 

“ That  she’s  to  stay  with — me.” 

“ With  you  ? ” 

“ With  me.” 

“ Why,  you  don’t  mean  to  say  that  you’re  going — that 

she’s  going ? ” 

“ I do — exactly  that.” 

“ Oh,  you  dear  Walter  ! I am  so  delighted ! Here, 
George ! What  did  I say  about  those  three  crows  we  saw 
as  we  were  driving  in  the  pony-chaise  ? They  did  mean  a 
wedding,  after  all ! ” 


422 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 
marian’s  resolve. 

To  have  an  income  of  fifteen  thousand  a year,  and  to  be 
her  own  mistress,  would,  one  would  have  imagined,  have 
placed  Marian  Creswell  on  the  pinnacle  of  worldly  suc- 
cess, and  rendered  her  perfectly  happy.  In  the  wildest 
day-dreams  of  her  youth  she  had  never  thought  of  attain- 
ing such  an  income,  and  such  a position  as  that  income 
afforded  her.  The  pleasures  of  that  position  she  had  only 
just  begun  to  appreciate;  for  the  life  at  Woolgreaves, 
though  with  its  domestic  comforts,  its  carriages  and 
horses  and  attentive  servants,  infinitely  superior  to  the 
life  in  the  Helmingham  school-house,  had  no  flavour  of 
the  outside  world.  Her  place  in  her  particular  sphere 
was  very  much  elevated,  but  that  sphere  was  as  circum- 
scribed as  ever.  It  was  not  until  after  her  husband’s 
death  that  Marian  felt  she  had  really  come  into  her 
kingdom.  The  industrious  gentlemen  who  publish  in  the 
newspapers  extracts  from  the  last  will  and  testaments  of 
rich  or  distinguished  persons — thereby  planting  a weekly 
dagger  in  the  bosoms  of  the  impecunious,  who  are  led  by 
a strange  kind  of  fascination  to  read  of  the  enormous 
sums  gathered  and  bequeathed — had  of  course  not  over- 
looked the  testamentary  disposition  of  Mr.  Creswell,  “ of 
Woolgreaves,  and  Charley  court  Mills,  Brocksopp,  cotton- 
spinner  and  mill-owner,”  but  had  nobly  placed  him  at  the 
hea’d  of  one  of  their  weekly  lists.  So  that  when  Mrs. 
Creswell  “ and  suite,”  as  they  were  good  enough  to  de- 
scribe her  servants  in  the  local  papers,  arrived  at  the 
great  hotel  at  Tunbridge  Wells,  the  functionaries  of  that 
magnificent  establishment — great  creatures  accustomed  to 
associate  with  the  salt  of  the  earth,  and  having  a proper 


marian’s  resolve. 


423 


contempt,  which  they  do  not  suffer  themselves  to  disguise, 
for  the  ordinary  traveller — were  fain  to  smile  on  her,  and 
to  give  her  such  a welcome  as  only  the  knowledge  of  the 
extent  to  which  they  intended  mulcting  her  in  the  bill 
could  possibly  have  extorted  from  them.  The  same  kindly 
feeling  towards  her  animated  all  the  sojourners  in  that 
pleasant  watering-place.  No  sooner  had  her  name  ap- 
peared in  the  Strangers’  List,  no  sooner  had  it  been  buzzed 
about  that  she  was  the  Mrs.  Creswell,  whose  husband  had 
recently  died,  leaving  her  so  wonderfully  well  off,  than 
she  became  an  object  of  intense  popular  interest. 

Two  ladies  of  title — the  widow  of  a viscount  (Irish), 
and  the  wife  of  a baronet  (English),  insolvent,  and  at 
that  moment  in  exile  in  the  island  of  Coll,  there  hiding 
from  his  creditors — left  cards  on  her,  and  earnestly  de- 
sired the  pleasure  of  her  acquaintance.  The  roistering 
youth  of  the  place,  the  East  India  colonels,  the  gay  dogs 
superannuated  from  the  government  offices,  the  retired 
business-men,  who,  in  the  fallow  leisure  of  their  lives,  did 
what  they  would, — all  looked  on  her  with  longing  eyes, 
and  set  their  wits  to  work  on  all  sorts  of  schemes  to  com- 
pass knowing  her.  Over  the  laity  the  clergy  have  a great 
advantage — their  mission  is  in  itself  sufficieht  introduction 
— and  lists  of  all  the  local  charities,  district  churches  to 
be  erected,  parsonages  to  be  repaired,  and  schools  to  be 
established,  had  been  presented  by  those  interested  in 
them  to  the  rich  widow  in  person  before  she  had  been 
forty- eight  hours  in  the  place. 

It  was  very  pleasant,  this  popularity,  this  being  sought 
after  and  courted  and  made  much  of,  and  Marian  enjoyed 
it  thoroughly.  Unquestionably,  she  had  never  enjoyed 
anything  so  much  in  her  previous  life,  and  her  enjoyment 
had  no  alloy.  For  although  just  heforo  her  husband’s 
death,  and  for  some  little  time  after,  she  had  had  certain 
twinges  of  conscience  as  to  the  part  sho  had  acted  in 
leaving  him  ignorant  of  all  her  relations  with  Walter 


424 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


Joyce  when  she  married  him,  that  feeling  had  soon  died 
away.  Before  leaving  home  she  had  had  a keen  expe- 
rience of  absolute  enjoyment  in  signing  cheques  with  her 
own  name,  and  in  being  consulted  by  Mr.  Teesdale  as  to 
some  business  of  her  estate,  and  this  feeling  increased 
very  much  during  her  stay  at  Tunbridge  Wells.  Never- 
theless, she  did  not  remain  there  very  long ; she  was 
pleased  at  being  told  that  her  duties  required  her  at  home, 
and  she  was  by  no  means  one  to  shirk  such  duties  as  the 
management  of  an  enormous  property  involved. 

So  Marian  Ores  well  went  back  to  Woolgreaves,  and 
busied  herself  in  learning  the  details  of  her  inheritance, 
in  receiving  from  Mr.  Teesdale  an  account  of  his  past 
stewardship,  and  listening  to  his  propositions  for  the 
future.  It  was  very  pleasant  at  first ; there  were  so  many 
figures,  the  amounts  involved  were  so  enormous,  there 
were  huge  parchment  deeds  to  look  at,  and  actual  painted 
maps  of  her  estates.  She  had  imagined  that  during  that 
period  just  prior  to  their  marriage,  when  she  made  herself 
useful  to  Mr.  Creswell,  she  had  acquired  some  notion  of 
his  wealth,  but  she  now  found  she  had  not  heard  of  a 
tenth  part  of  it.  There  was  a slate  quarry  in  Wales,  a 
brewery  in  Leamington,  interest  in  Australian  ships,  liens 
on  Indian  railways,  and  house  property  in  London.  There 
seemed  no  end  to  the  wealth,  and  for  the  first  few  weeks, 
looking  at  the  details  of  it  with  her  own  eyes,  or  listening 
to  the  account  of  it  in  Mr.  Teesdale’s  sonorous  voice, 
afforded  her  real  pleasure.  Then  gradually,  and  almost 
imperceptibly,  came  back  upon  her  that  feeling  which  had 
overwhelmed  her  in  her  husband’s  lifetime,  of  which  she 
had  gotten  rid  for  some  little  space,  but  which  now  re- 
turned with  fifty-fold  free-questioning,  “ What  is  the  good 
of  it  all?” 

What  indeed  ? She  sat  in  the  midst  of  her  possessions 
more  lonely  than  the  poorest  cotter  on  any  of  her  estates, 
— less  cared  for  than  the  worn-out  miner,  for  whom,  after 


marian’s  resolve. 


425 


his  day’s  toil,  his  wife  prepared  the  evening  meal,  and  his 
children  huddled  at  his  knee.  Formerly  her  husband  had 
been  there,  with  his  kindly  face  and  his  soft  voice,  and 
she  had  known  that,  notwithstanding  all  difference  of  age 
and  temperament  between  them,  so  long  as  he  lived  there 
was  one  to  love  her  with  a devotion  which  is  the  lot  of 
few  in  this  world.  Now  he  was  gone,  and  she  was  alone. 
Alone!  It  was  a maddening  thought  to  a woman  of 
Marian’s  condition,  without  the  consolation  of  religion, 
without  the  patience  calmly  to  accept  her  fate,  without 
the  power  of  bowing  to  the  inevitable.  Where  money 
was  concerned  she  could  scarcely  bring  herself  to  recognise 
the  inevitable,  could  scarcely  understand  that  people  of 
her  wealth  should,  against  their  own  will,  be  left  alone  in 
this  world,  and  that  love,  friendship,  and  all  their  sweet 
associations,  could  not  be  bought. 

Love  and  friendship ! Of  the  latter  she  could  scarcely 
be  said  to  have  had  any  experience ; for  Marian  Ashurst 
was  not  a girl  who  made  friends,  and  Mrs.  Creswell  found 
no  one  equal  to  being  admitted  to  such  a bond ; and  as  to 
the  former,  though  she  had  enjoyed  it  once,  she  had 
almost  forgotten  all  about  it.  It  came  back  to  her,  how- 
ever, as  she  thought  over  it ; all  the  sweet  -Words,  the  soft 
endearing  epithets,  and  the  loving  looks  came  back  to  her, 
all  the  fond  memory  of  that  time  when,  for  a period,  the 
demon  of  avarice  was  stilled,  the  gnawing  desire  for 
money,  and  what  money  in  her  idea  might  bring,  was 
quenched;  when  she  was  honestly  proud  of  her  lover, 
happy  in  the  present,  and  expectant  of  the  future.  She 
recollected  the  poor  dresses  and  the  cheap  trinkets  which 
she  had  in  those  days ; the  wretched  little  presents  which 
she  and  Walter  had  exchanged,  and  the  pleasure  she  ex- 
perienced at  receiving  them  at  his  hands.  She  remem- 
bered the  locket,  with  her  portrait,  which  she  had  given 
him,  and  wondered  what  had  become  of  it.  lie  had  it, 
doubtless,  yet,  for  he  had  never  returned  it  to  her,  not 


426 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


even  in  that  first  wild  access  of  rage  which  he  may  have 
felt  at  the  receipt  of  the  letter  announcing  her  intended 
marriage,  nor  since,  when  he  had  cooled  down  into  com- 
parative carelessness.  Surely  that  argued  something  in 
her  favour  ? Surely  that  showed  that  he  had  yet  some 
lingering  regard  for  her  ? In  all  that  had  been  told  her 
of  him — and  specially  during  the  election  time  she  had 
heard  much — no  mention  had  ever  been  made  of  any 
woman  to  whom  he  was  paying  attention.  She  had 
thought  of  that  before;  she  remembered  it  delightedly 
now.  Could  it  be  that  in  the  secret  recesses  of  his  heart 
there  glimmered  yet,  unquenched,  a spark  of  love  for  her, 
the  idol  of  his  youth  ? It  was  not  unlikely,  she  thought ; 
he  was  very  romantic,  as  she  remembered  him — just  the 
sort  of  man  in  whom  commerce  with  the  world  would  be 
insufficient  to  blot  out  early  impressions,  to  efface  che- 
rished ideals. 

Could  it  be  possible  that  the  great  crisis  in  her  life  was 
yet  to  come  ? That  the  opportunity  was  yet  to  be  given 
her  of  having  wealth  and  position,  and,  to  share  them  with 
her,  a husband  whom  she  could  love,  and  of  whom  she 
could  be  proud  ? Her  happiness  seemed  almost  too  great ; 
and  yet  it  was  there  on  the  cards  before  her.  Forgetting 
all  she  had  done,  and  shutting  her  eyes  to  the  fact  that  she 
herself  had  made  an  enormous  gulf  between  them,  she 
blindly  argued  to  herself  that  it  was  impossible  such  love 
as  Walter  Joyce’s  for  her  could  ever  be  wholly  eradicated, 
that  some  spark  of  its  former  fire  must  yet  remain  in  its 
ashes,  and  needed  but  tact  and  opportunity  on  her  part  to 
fan  it  again  into  a flame.  What  would  not  life  be,  then,  were 
that  accomplished  ? She  had  been  pleased  with  the  notion 
of  entering  society  as  Mr.  Creswell’s  wife  (poor  prosaic 
Mr.  Creswell !),  but  as  the  wife  of  Walter  Joyce,  who  was, 
according  to  Mr.  Gould,  one  of  the  most  rising  men  of  the 
day,  and  who  would  have  her  fortune  at  his  back  to 
further  his  schemes  and  advance  his  interests,  what  might 


MARIAN  S RESOLVE. 


427 


not  be  done ! Marian  glowed  with  delight  at  this  ecstatic 
day-dream;  sat  cherishing  it  for  honrs,  thinking  over  all 
kinds  of  combinations  ; finally  put  it  aside  with  the  full 
determination  to  take  some  steps  towards  seeing  Walter 
Joyce  at  once. 

How  lucky  it  was,  she  thought,  that  she  had  behaved 
amiably  on  the  announcement  of  Gertrude  Creswell’s 
marriage,  and  not,  as  she  had  felt  inclined  at  first  to 
do,  returned  a savage,  or  at  best  a formal,  answer  ! These 
people,  these  Benthalls,  were  just  those  through  whose 
agency  her  designs  must  be  carried  out.  They  were  very 
friendly  with  Walter,  and  of  course  saw  something  of 
him ; indeed,  she  had  heard  that  he  was  expected  down  to 
stay  at  Helmingham,  so  soon  as  he  could  get  away  from 
London.  If  she  played  her  cards  well — not  too  openly  at 
first,  but  with  circumspection — she  might  make  good  use 
of  these  people  ; and  as  they  would  not  be  too  well  off, 
even  with  the  interest  of  Gertrude’s  money,  if  they  had 
a family  (and  these  sort  of  people,  poor  parsons  and 
schoolmasters — James  Ashurst’s  daughter  had  already 
learned  to  speak  in  that  way — always  had  a large  number 
of  children),  she  might  be  able,  in  time,  to  buy  their 
services  and  mould  them  to  her  will. 

It  was  under  the  influence  of  these  feelings  that  Marian 
had  determined  on  being  exceedingly  polite  to  the  Ben- 
thalls, and  she  regretted  very  much  that  she  had  been 
away  from  home  at  the  time  when  they  called  on  her. 
She  wrote  a note  to  that  effect  to  Mrs.  Benthall,  and 
intimated  her  intention  of  returning  the  visit  almost 
immediately.  Mrs.  Benthall  showed  the  note  to  her 
husband,  who  read  it  and  lifted  his  eyebrows,  and  asked 
his  wife  what  it  meant,  and  why  the  widow  had  suddenly 
become  so  remarkably  attached  to  them.  Mrs.  Benthall 
professed  her  inability  to  answer  his  question,  but  remarked 
that  it  was  a good  thing  that  “ that  ” was  all  settled 
between  Maude  and  Walter,  before  Walter  came  in 
madam’s  way  again. 


428 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


44  But  he  isn’t  likely  to  come  in  her  way  again,”  said  the 
Reverend  George. 

“ I don’t  know  that,”  said  Gerty  ; “ this  sudden  friend- 
ship  for  us  looks  to  me  very  much  as  though ” 

“You  don’t  mean  to  say  you  think  Mrs.  Creswell 
intends  making  a convenience  of  us  ?”  asked  Mr.  Benthall. 

“I  think  she  did  so  intend,”  said  Gertrude;  “but 
she — 

“ We’ll  have  nothing  of  that  sort ! ” cried  Mr.  Benthall, 
going  through  that  process  which  is  known  as  44  flaring 
up ; ” “we  can  get  on  well  enough  without  her  and  her 
presents,  and  if ” 

“ Ah,  you  silly  thing,”  interrupted  Gertrude,  “ don’t 
you  see  that  when  Walter  marries  Maude,  there  will  be  an 
end  of  any  use  to  which  we  could  be  put  by  Mrs.  Creswell, 
even  if  we  were  not  going  away  to  the  Newmanton  living 
in  a very  few  weeks  ? You  may  depend  upon  it,  that  as 
soon  as  she  hears  the  news — and  I will  take  care  to  let  her 
know  it  when  she  calls  here— she  will  gracefully  retire, 
and  during  the  remainder  of  our  stay  in  Helmingham  we 
shall  see  very  little  more  of  the  rich  widow.” 

On  the  night  of  his  acceptance  by  Maude  Creswell, 
Walter  wrote  a long  letter  to  Lady  Caroline.  He  wrote  it 
in  his  room — the  old  room  in  which  he  used  to  sleep  in  his 
usher-days : he  had  bargained  to  have  that  when  he  came 
down — when  all  the  household  was  in  bed,  after  an 
evening  passed  by  him  in  earnest  conversation  with 
Maude  and  Gertrude,  while  Mr.  Benthall  busied  himself 
with  an  arrangement  of  affairs  consequent  upon  his  giving 
up  the  school,  which  he  had  decided  upon  doing  at  mid- 
summer. In  the  course  of  that  long  conversation  Walter 
mentioned  that  he  was  about  to  write  to  Lady  Caroline, 
acquainting  her  with  what  had  taken  place,  and  also  told 
the  girls  of  his  having  consulted  her  previous  to  the  step 
which  he  had  taken.  He  thought  this  information,  as 


Marian’s  resolve. 


429 


showing  Lady  Caroline’s  approbation  of  the  match,  would 
be  hailed  with  great  delight ; and  he  was  surprised  to  see 
a look  pass  between  Maude  and  Gertrude,  and  to  hear  the 
latter  say — 

“Oh,  Walter,  you  don’t  mean  to  say  you  asked  Lady 
Caroline’s  advice  as  to  your  marrying  Maude  ! ” 

“ Certainly  I did  ; and  I’m  sure  Maude  will  see  nothing 
strange  in  it.  She  knows  perfectly  well  that — — ” 

“ It  is  not  for  Maude’s  sake  that  I spoke ; but — but, 

Walter,  had  you  no  idea,  no  suspicion  that ” 

“That  what,  my  dear  Gertrude?  Pray  finish  your 
sentence.” 

“ That  Lady  Caroline  cared  for  you  herself?  ” 

“ Cared  for  me ! ” 

r ~ **  Cared  for  you  ! loved  you ! wanted  to  marry  you ! 
Can  I find  plainer  language  than  that  ? ” 

“ Good  heavens,  child,  what  nonsense  are  you  talking ! 
There  is  not  the  remotest  foundation  for  any  such  belief. 
Lady  Caroline  is  my  kindest  and  best  friend.  If  there 
were  no  social  difference  between  us,  I should  say  she  had 
behaved  to  me  as  a sister ; but  as  for  anything  else — 
— nonsense,  Gertrude  ! ” 

Gertrude  said  no  more;  she  merely  shrugged  her 
shoulders  and  changed  the  subject.  But  the  effect  of  that 
conversation  was  not  lost  on  Walter  Joyce.  It  showed  in 
the  tone  of  his  letter  to  Lady  Caroline  written  that  night, 
softening  it  and  removing  it  entirely  from  the  brusque  and 
business-like  style  of  correspondence  which  he  generally 
indulged  in. 

The  next  day  he  left  Helmingham  early,  having  had 
a stroll  with  Maude, — in  which  he  expressed  his  wisli  that 
the  marriage  should  take  place  as  soon  as  possible, — and 
a short  talk  with  Gertrude,  in  which,  however,  ho  made 
no  reference  to  the  topic  discussed  on  the  previous 
evening. 

It  was  a lucky  thing  that  Mr.  Joyce  had  started  by  an 


430 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


early  train;  for  the  Benthalls  had  scarcely  finished  their 
luncheon,  before  there  was  a violent  ringing  at  the  gate- 
bell, — there  was  no  servant  in  the  county  who,  for  his  size, 
could  make  more  noise  than  Marian’s  tiger, — and  Mrs. 
Creswell  was  announced.  She  had  driven  the  ponies 
slowly  over  from  Woolgreaves,  and  had  been  enjoying  the 
bows  and  adulation  of  the  villagers  as  she  came  along. 
Though  of  course  she  had  driven  through  the  village  scores 
of  times,  she  had  never  been  to  the  school-house  since  she 
left  it  with  her  mother  on  their  memorable  visit  to  Wool- 
greaves, that  visit  which  resulted  in  her  marriage. 

She  was  not  an  emotional  woman,  Mrs.  Creswell ; but 
her  heart  beat  rather  faster  than  its  placid  wont  as  she 
crossed  the  threshold  of  the  gate,  and  stepped  at  once  into 
the  garden,  where  so  many  of  the  scenes  of  her  early 
history  had  been  passed.  There  was  the  lawn,  as  untidy 
as  in  her  poor  father’s  days,  bordered  by  the  big  elm-trees, 
under  whose  shadow  she  had  walked  in  the  dull  summer 
evenings,  as  the  hum  from  the  dormitories  settled  down 
into  silence  and  slumber ; and  her  lover  was  free  to  join 
her  there,  and  to  walk  with  her  until  their  frugal  supper 
was  announced.  There  were  the  queer  star  and  pear- 
shaped  flower-beds,  the  virginia-creeper  waving  in  feathery 
elegance  along  the  high  wall,  the  other  side  of  which  was 
put  to  far  more  practical  purposes — bore  stucco  instead  of 
climbers,  and  re-echoed  to  the  balls  of  the  fives-players. 
There  were  the  narrow  walks,  the  old  paintless  gate-bell, 
that  lived  behind  iron  bars,  the  hideous  stone  pine-apples 
on  either  side  of  the  door,  just  as  she  remembered  them. 

In  the  drawing-room,  too,  where  she  was  received  by 
Mrs.  Benthall,  with  the  exception  of  a [smell  of  stale 
tobacco,  there  was  no  difference : the  old  paper  on  the 
walls,  the  old  furniture,  the  old  dreary  outlook. 

After  the  first  round  of  visiting  talk,  Marian  asked 
Gertrude  how  she  liked  her  new  home. 

Gerty  was,  if  anything,  frank. 


marian’s  resolve. 


431 


44  Well,  I like  it  pretty  well,”  she  said.  44  Of  course  it’s 
all  new  to  me,  and  the  hoys  are  great  fun.” 

“Are  they? ’’said  Marian,  with  an  odd  smile;  44  they 
must  have  changed  a great  deal.  I know  I didn’t  think 
them  4 great  fun  ’ in  my  day.” 

44  Well,  I mean  for  a little  time.  Of  course  they’d  bore 
one  awfully  very  soon,  and  I think  this  place  would  bore 
one  frightfully  after  a time,  so  dull  and  grim,  isn’t  it  ? ” 

44  It’s  very  quiet ; but  you  mustn’t  let  it  bore  you,  as 
you  call  it.” 

44  Oh,  that  won’t  matter  much,  because  it  will  only  be 
for  so  short  a time.” 

44  So  short  a time ! Are  you  going  to  leave  Helming- 
ham  ? ” 

44  Oh  yes ; haven’t  you  heard  ? George  has  got  a 
living — such  a jolly  place,  they  say — in  the  Isle  of  Wight; 
Newmanton  they  call  it ; and  we  give  up  here  at  mid- 
summer.” 

44 1 congratulate  you,  my  dear  Gertrude,  as  much  as  I 
bewail  my  own  misfortune.  I was  looking  forward  with 
such  pleasure  to  having  you  within  reachable  distance  in 
this  horribly  unneighbourly  neighbourhood,  and  now  you 
dash  all  my  hopes!  Whence  did  Mr.  Benthall  get  this 
singular  piece  of  good  fortune  ? ” 

44  George  got  the  presentation  from  Lord  Hetherington, 
who  is  a great  friend  of  Wal — I mean  of  a great  friend  of 
ours.  And  Lord  Hetherington  had  seen  George  in  London, 
and  had  taken  a fancy  to  him,  as  so  many  people  do ; and 
he  begged  his  friend  to  offer  this  living  to  George.” 

44  That  is  very  delightful  indeed ; I must  congratulate 
you,  though  I must  say  I deserve  a medal  for  my  selfless- 
ness in  doing  so.  It  will  be  charming  for  your  sister,  too  ; 
she  never  liked  this  part  of  the  country  much,  I think ; 
and  of  course  she  will  live  with  you  ?” 

44  No,  not  live  with  us ; we  shall  see  her  whenever  she 
can  get  away  from  London,  I hope.” 


432  _ WRECKED  IN  PORT. 

Ct  From  London ! ah,  I forgot.  Of  course  she  will 
make  your  friend  Lady — Man — Lady  Mansergh’s  her  head- 
quarters ? ” 

“ No ; you  are  not  right  yet,  Mrs.  Creswell,”  said 
Gertrude,  smiling  in  great  delight,  and  showing  all  her 
teeth.  “ The  fact  is,  Maude  is  going  to  be  married,  and 
after  her  marriage  she  will  live  the  greater  part  of  the  year 
in  London.” 

“ To  be  married  ! indeed ! ” said  Marian — she  always 
hated  Maude  much  worse  than  Gertrude.  “ May  one  ask 
to  whom  ? ” 

“Oh,  certainly ; every  one  will  know  it  now, — to  the 
new  member  here,  Mr.  Joyce.” 

“ Indeed ! ” said  Marian  quite  calmly  (trust  her  for 
that!).  “I  should  think  they  would  be  excellently 
matched  ! — My  dear  Gertrude,  how  on  earth  do  you  get 
these  flowers  to  grow  in  a room  ? Mine  are  all  blighted, 
the  merest  brown  horrors.” 

“Would  he  prefer  that  pale  spiritless  girl — not  spirit- 
less, but  missish,  knowing  nothing  of  the  world  and  its 
ways — to  a woman  who  could  stand  by  his  side  in  an 
emergency,  and  help  him  throughout  his  life  ? Am  I to 
be  for  ever  finding  one  or  other  of  these  doll-children  in 
my  way  ? Shall  I give  up  this  last  new  greatest  hope 
simply  because  of  this  preposterous  obstacle  ? Invention 
too,  perhaps,  of  the  other  girl’s,  to  annoy  me.  Walter  is 
not  that  style  of  man — last  person  on  earth  to  fancy  a 

bread-and-butter  miss,  who We  will  see  who  shall 

win  in  this  round.  This  is  an  excitement  which  I cer- 
tainly had  not  expected.” 

And  the  ponies  never  went  so  fast  before. 


( 433  ) 


CHAPTER  XXXYIIL 

THE  RESULT. 

The  second  day  after  Mrs.  Cresweirs  visit  to  Helmingham, 
Walter  Joyce  was  sitting  in  his  chambers  hard  at  work. 
The  approaching  change  in  his  condition  had  affected  him 
very  little  indeed.  He  had  laughed  to  himself  to  think 
how  little.  He  would  have  laughed  more  had  he  not 
at  the  same  time  reflected  that  it  is  not  a particularly  good 
sign  for  a man  to  be  so  much  overwhelmed  by  business  or  so 
generally  careless  as  to  what  becomes  of  him,  as  to  look 
upon  his  marriage  with  very  little  elation,  to  prepare  for 
it  in  a very  matter-of-fact  and  unromantic  way.  That  no 
man  can  serve  two  masters  we  know  on  the  best  authority; 
and  there  are  two  who  certainly  will  not  brook  being 
served  at  the  same  time  by  the  one  worshipper,  love  and 
ambition.  Joyce  had  been  courting  the  latter  deity  for 
many  months  with  unexampled  assiduity,  and  with  very 
excellent  success,  and,  in  reality,  had  never  swerved  in  his 
allegiance.  He  was  afraid  he  had ; he  induced  himself  to 
believe  that  that  desire  for  some  one  to  share  his  life  with 
him  was  really  legitimate  love-prompting,  whereas  it  was 
much  more  likely  a mere  wish,  springing  from  vanity,  to 
have  some  one  always  at  hand  with  the  censer,  some  one  to 
play  the  part  of  the  stage-confidante,  and  receive  all  his 
outpourings  while  at  the  same  time  she  was  loud  in  his 
praises.  The  love  which  he  felt  for  Maude  Ores  well 
differed  as  much  from  the  passion  with  which,  in  the  by- 
gone years,  Marian  Ashurst  had  inspired  him,  as  the  thick 
brown  turgid  Rhine  stream  which  flows  past  Emmerich 
differs  from  the  bright,  limpid,  diamond-sprayed  water 
which  flashes  down  at  Schaflfhauscn  ; but  there  was  “body’’ 
in  it,  as  there  is  in  the  Rhine  stream  at  Emmerich,  suf- 

2 p 


434 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


ficient  to  keep  him  straight  from  any  of  the  insidious 
attacks  of  ambition,  as  he  soon  had  occasion  to  prove. 

Not  that  the  news  which  Gertrude  Benthall  had  con- 
fided to  him  in  regard  to  Lady  Caroline  Mansergh  had 
touched  him  one  whit.  In  the  first  place,  he  thought 
Gertrude  had  deceived  herself,  or,  at  all  events,  had  mis- 
construed the  feelings  by  which  Lady  Caroline  was 
actuated  towards  him ; and  in  the  second — supposing  the 
girl  was  right,  and  all  was  as  she  believed — it  would  not 
have  had  the  smallest  influence  in  altering  anything  he 
had  done.  He  was  not  a brilliant  man,  Walter  Joyce, 
clever  in  his  way,  but  lacking  in  savoir  faire  ; but  he  had  a 
rough  odd  kind  of  common  sense  which  stood  him  in  better 
stead  than  mere  worldly  experience,  and  that  showed  him 
that  in  his  true  position  the  very  worst  thing  he  could 
have  done  for  himself  would  have  been  to  go  in  for  a great 
alliance.  Such  a proceeding  would  have  alienated  the 
affections  and  the  confidence  of  all  those  people  who  had 
made  him  what  he  was,  or  rather  who  had  seen  him 
struggle  up  to  the  position  he  enjoyed,  and  given  him  a 
helping  hand  at  the  last.  But  it  was  because  he  had 
struggled  up  himself  by  his  own  exertions  that  they  liked 
him,  whereas  any  effort  in  his  favour  by  the  aid  of  money 
or  patronage  would  have  sent  them  at  once  into  the  oppo- 
sition ranks.  No,  Lady  Caroline  was  still  the  kindest,  the 
dearest,  the  best  of  his  friends ! He  found  a letter  from  her 
on  his  return  to  chambers,  full  of  warm  congratulations, 
telling  him  that  she  was  compelled  to  follow  the  medical 
advice  of  which  she  had  spoken  to  him,  and  to  leave 
London  for  a few  weeks ; but  she  hoped  on  her  return  to 
welcome  him  and  his  bride  to  Chesterfield  Street,  and  re- 
tain them  ever  on  the  very  narrow  list  of  her  chiefest  inti- 
mates. He  was  engaged  on  a letter  to  Jack  Byrne  when 
there  came  a sharp  clear  knock  at  the  door ; such  a dif- 
ferent knock  from  that  usually  given  by  the  printer’s  boy, 
his  most  constant  visitor,  that  he  laid  down  his  pen,  and 
called  sonorously,  “ Come  in  ! ” 


THE  RESULT. 


435 


The  handle  was  turned  quietly,  the  door  was  opened 
quickly,  and  Marian  Creswell  came  into  the  room. 

Walter  did  not  recognise  her  at  first;  her  veil  was  half 
over  her  face,  and  she  was  standing  with  her  back  to  the 
light.  A minute  after,  he  exclaimed,  “ Mrs.  Creswell ! ” 

“ Yes,  Mf.  Joyce ; Mrs.  Creswell ! You  did  not 
expect  me.” 

“ I did  not,  indeed.  You  are,  I confess,  one  of  the  last 
persons  I should  have  expected  to  see  in  these  rooms.” 

“ No  doubt ; that  is  perfectly  natural ; but  I come  on 
a matter  of  business.” 

“ As  does  every  one  who  favours  me  with  a visit.  I 
cannot  imagine  any  one  coming  here  for  pleasure.  Pray 
be  seated ; take  the  ‘ client’s  chair.’  ” 

“ You  are  very  bright  and  genial,  Mr.  Joyce;  as  every 
successful  man  is.” 

“ As  every  man  ought  to  be,  Mrs.  Creswell ; as  every 
tolerably  successful  man  can  afford  to  be.” 

“ I suppose  you  wonder  how  I found  your  address.” 

“ Not  the  least  in  the  world.  Unfortunately  I know 
too  well  that  it  is  in  the  archives  of  the  Post-office  Directory . 
Behold  the  painful  evidences  of  the  fact ! ” gpid  he  pointed 
to  a table  covered  with  papers.  “Petitions,  begging- 
letters,  pamphlets,  circulars,  all  kinds  of  unreadable 
literature.” 

“ Yes ; but  I don’t  study  the  Post-office  Directory , as 
a rule.” 

“ No ; but  you  looked  at  it  to-day,  because  you  had  an 
object  in  view.  Given  the  object,  you  will  not  hesitate 
to  depart  in  any  way  from  your  usual  course,  Mrs.  Cres- 
well.” 

“ I wTill  not  pretend  to  ignore  your  sarcasm,  nor  will 
I say  whether  it  is  deserved  or  undeserved,  though  perhaps 
my  presence  here  just  now  should  have  induced  you  to 
spare  me.” 

“ I did  not  mean  to  be  sarcastic ; I simply  gave  utter- 


436 


WKECKED  IN  POET. 


ance  to  a thought  that  came  into  my  mind.  Yon  said  yon 
came  on  a matter  of  bnsiness  ? I mnst  be  rnde  enough  to 
remind  yon  that  I am  very  bnsy  just  now.” 

“ I will  detain  yon  a very  short  time  ; but,  in  the  first 
place,  let  ns  drop  this  fencing  and  folly.  Yon  know  my 
husband  is  dead  ? ” 

Joyce  bowed. 

“ And  that  I am  left  with  a large,  a very  large  fortune 
at  my  disposal  ? ” 

“ I heard  so,  not  merely  when  I was  down  at  Hel- 
mingham  the  other  day,  bnt  here  in  London.  It  is 
common  talk.” 

“Yon  were  down  in  Helmingham  the  other  day ? Ah, 
of  course!  However,  suppose  I had  come  to  you  to 
say 99  and  she  paused. 

Joyce  looked  at  her  with  great  composure.  “ To  say!” 
he  repeated. 

“ I mnst  go  through  with  it,”  she  muttered  beneath 
her  breath.  “ To  say  that  the  memory  of  old  days  is 
always  rising  in  my  mind,  the  sound  of  old  words  and 
places  always  ringing  in  my  ears,  the  remembrance  of  old 
looks  almost  driving  me  mad ! Suppose  I had  come  to 
say  all  this — and  this  besides — share  that  fortune  with 
me ! ” 

“ To  say  that  to  me  ! 99 

“ To  you ! ” 

“ It  is  excessively  polite  of  you,  and  of  course  I am 
very  much  flattered,  necessarily.  But,  Mrs.  Creswell, 
there  is  one  thing  that  would  prevent  my  accepting  your 
very  generous  offer.” 

“ And  that  is ” 

“ I am  engaged  to  be  married.” 

“ I had  heard  some  report  of  that  kind ; but,  knowing 
you  as  I do,  I had  set  very  little  store  by  it.  Walter 
Joyce,  I have  followed  your  fortunes,  so  far  as  they  have 
been  made  public,  for  many  months,  and  I have  seen  how, 


THE  RESULT. 


437 


step  by  step,  yon  have  pushed  yonrself  forward.  You 
have  done  well,  very  well ; but  there  is  a future  for  you 
far  beyond  your  present,  if  you  but  take  advantage  of  the 
opportunity  which  I now  offer  you.  With  the  fortune 
which  I ask  you  to  share  with  me — a fortune,  mind ; not 
a few  thousand  pounds  such  as  you  are  anticipating  with 
Maude  Creswell,  but  with  a fortune  at  your  back,  and 
your  talents,  you  may  do  anything ; there  is  no  position 
which  might  not  be  open  to  you.” 

“You  are  drawing  a tempting  picture.” 

“ I am  drawing  a true  one ; for  in  addition  to  your 
own  brains,  you  would  have  those  of  a woman  to  aid  you : 
a woman,  mind,  who  has  done  for  herself  what  she  pro- 
poses to  do  for  you ; who  has  raised  herself  to  the  position 
she  always  longed  for — a woman  with  skill  to  scheme,  and 
courage  to  carry  out.  Do  you  follow  me  ? ” 

“ Perfectly.” 

“And  you  agree?” 

“ I think  not.  I’m  afraid  it’s  impossible.  I know  it’s 
not  an  argument  that  will  weigh  with  you  at  all,  or  that, 
perhaps,  you  will  be  able  to  understand ; but,  you  see,  my 
word  is  pledged  to  this  young  lady.” 

“Is  that  all?  I should  think  some  means  might  be 
found  to  compensate  the  young  lady  for  her  loss.” 

Walter  Joyce’s  face  was  growing  very  dark,  but  Marian 
did  not  perceive  it. 

“No,  it  is  not  all,”  he  said  coldly;  “the  thing  would 
be  impossible,  even  if  that  reason  did  not  exist.” 

She  saw  that  her  shaft  had  missed  its  mark,  but  she 
was  determined  to  bring  him  down,  so  tried  another. 

“ Ah,  Walter,”  she  said,  “ do  you  answer  me  like  this  ? 

In  memory  of  the  dear  old  days ” 

“ Stop  ! ” he  cried,  bringing  his  hand  down  heavily  on 
the  writing-table  before  him,  and  springing  to  his  feet. 
“ Stop  ! ” he  cried,  in  a voice  very  different  from  the  cold 
polite  tone  in  which  he  had  hitherto  spoken ; “ don’t  name 


438 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


those  times,  or  what  passed  in  them,  for  in  your  month 
such  allusions  would  he  almost  blasphemy.  Marian  Cres- 
well — and  the  mere  fact  that  I have  to  call  you  by  that 
name  ought  to  have  told  you  what  would  be  my  answer  to 
your  proposition  before  you  came  here — perhaps  if  I were 
starving  I might  take  an  alms  of  you,  but  under  no  other 
circumstance  would  I touch  a farthing  of  that  money  which 
you  pride  yourself  on  having  secured.  You  must  have 
been  strangely  forgetful  when  you  talked  to  me,  as  you  did 
just  now,  of  having  ‘ raised  yourself  to  the  position  you 
always  longed  for,’  and  of  having  ‘skill  to  scheme  and 
courage  to  carry  out  ’ what  you  desire.  You  forgot,  surely, 
that  in  those  words  you  told  me — what  I knew  before,  by 
the  way — that  you  longed  for  your  present  position  while 
you  were  my  promised  wife ; and  that  you  were  bringing 
your  skill  and  your  courage  to  work  to  obtain  it,  while  I 
was  striving,  and  hoping,  and  slaving  for  you.” 

“We  had  better  put  an  end  to  this  interview,”  said 
Marian,  attempting  to  rise.  “ Ah,  Walter,  spare  me  ! ” 

“ Spare  you  ! ” he  cried  in  unaltered  tones.  “ Did  you 
spare  me  while  all  this  was  going  on  ? Did  you  spare  me 
when” — he  opened' a drawer  at  his  side  and  took  out  a 
folded  paper— “when  you  wrote  me  this  cruel  letter, 
blasting  my  hopes  and  driving  me  to  despair,  and  almost 
to  madness  ? Spare  you ! Who  have  you  spared  ? Did 
you  spare  those  girls,  the  nieces  of  the  kindly  old  man 
whom  you  married,  or,  because  they  were  ‘ in  your  way, 
did  not  have  them  turned  out  of  his  house,  their  natural 
home  ? Did  you  spare  the  old  man  himself  when  you  saw 
him  fretting  against  the  step  which  you  had  compelled 
him  to  take?  Who  have  you  spared,  whom  have  you 
not  overridden,  in  your  reckless  career  of  avarice  and 
ambition  ? ” 

She  sat  cowed  and  trembling  for  a moment,  then  raised 
her  head  and  looked  at  him  with  flashing  eyes. 

“ I am  much  obliged  to  you,  Mr.  Joyce,”  she  said  in  a 


THE  RESULT. 


439 


very  hard  voice,  that  came  clipping  out  between  her  tight 
lips, — “ I am  much  obliged  to  you  for  permitting  me  to 
be  present  at  a private  rehearsal  of  one  of  your  speeches. 
It  was  very  good,  and  does  you  great  credit.  You  have 
decidedly  improved  since  I saw  you  on  the  platform  at 
Brocksopp.  Your  style  is  perhaps  a little  turgid,  a little 
bombastic,  but  that  doubtless  is  in  accordance  with  the 
taste  of  those  of  whose  sentiments  you  are  the  chosen  and 
the  popular  exponent.  I must  ask  you  to  see  me  to  the 
cab  at  the  door.  I am  unaccustomed  to  London,  and  have 
no  footman  with  me.  Thanks ! ” And  she  walked  out  of 
the  door  which  he  had  opened  for  her,  and  preceded  him 
down  the  staircase,  with  a volcano  raging  in  her  breast, 
but  with  the  most  perfect  outward  composure. 

See  the  curtain  now  about  to  drop  on  this  little  drama, 
— comedy  of  manners  rather, — where  nothing  or  no  one 
has  been  in  extremes ; where  the  virtuous  people  have  not 
been  wholly  virtuous ; and  where  the  wickedest  have  had 
far  less  carmine  and  tinsel  than  the  author  has  on  former 
occasions  found  a necessity  to  use.  There  is  no  need  to 
“ dress  ” the  characters  with  military  precision  in  a straight 
line;  for  there  is  no  “ tag  ” to  be  spoken,  no  set  speech  to 
be  delivered ; and,  moreover,  the  characters  are  all  dis- 
persed. 

Gertrude  and  her  husband  are  in  their  seaside  home, 
happy  in  each  other  and  their  children.  Walter  and  his 
wife  are  very  happy,  too,  in  their  quiet  way.  He  has  not 
made  any  wonderful  position  for  himself  as  yet ; but  he  is 
doing  well,  and  is  well  thought  of  by  his  party.  Dr. 
Osborne  has  retired  from  practice ; but  most  of  the  Hel- 
mingham  and  Brocksopp  folk  are  going  on  much  in  their 
usual  way. 

And  Marian  Creswell?  The  woman  with  the  peaked 
face  and  the  scanty  hair  turning  gray,  who  is  seldom  at 
her  own  house,  but  appears  suddenly  at  Brighton,  Bath, 


440 


WRECKED  IN  PORT. 


Cheltenham,  or  Torquay,  and  disappears  as  suddenly,  is 
Marian  Creswell.  The  chosen  quarry  of  impostors  and 
sycophants,  she  has  not  one  single  friend  in  whom  to 
confide,  one  creature  to  care  for  her.  She  is  alone  with 
her  wealth,  which  is  merely  a burden  to  her,  and  has  no? 
the  power  of  affording  her  the  smallest  gratification. 


THE  END. 


PRINTED  AT  THE  CAXTON  PRESS,  BECCLES. 


NOVELS  AT  ONE  SHILLING 


Capt.  MARRYAT. 

Peter  Simple. 

Tne  King's  Own. 
Midshipman  Easy. 
Rattlin  the  Reefer. 
Pacha  of  Many  Tales. 
Newton  Forster, 
lacob  Faithful. 

The  Dog  Fiend. 
Japhet  in  Search  of  a 
Father. 

The  Poacher. 

The  Phantom  Ship. 
Percival  Keene. 
Valerie. 

Frank  Mildmay. 

Olla  Podrida. 
Monsieur  Violet. 

The  Pirate  and  Three 
Cutters. 

W.H.  AINSWORTH 
Windsor  Castle. 
Tower  of  London. 
The  Miser’s  Daughter. 
Rookwood. 

Old  St.  Paul’s. 
Crichton. 

Guy  Fawkes. 

The  Spendthrift. 
James  the  Second. 

Star  Chamber. 

Flitch  of  Bacon. 
Lancashire  Witches. 
Mervyn  Clitheroe. 
Ovingdean  Grange. 

St.  James’s. 

Auriol. 

Jack  Sheppard. 

J.  F.  COOPER. 
The  Pilot. 

Last  of  the  Mohicans. 
The  Pioneers. 

The  Red  Rover. 

The  Spy. 

Lionel  Lincoln. 

The  Deerslayer. 

The  Pathfinder. 

The  Bravo. 

The  Waterwitch. 

Two  Admirals. 


Satanstoe. 

Afloat  and  Ashore. 
Wyandotte. 

Eve  Effingham. 

Miles  Wallingford. 

The  Headsman. 

The  Prairie. 
Homeward  Bound. 
The  Borderers. 

The  Sea  Lions. 
Precaution. 

Oak  Openings. 

Mark’s  Reef. 

Ned  Myers. 

The  Heidenmauer. 

ALEX.  DUMAS. 
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Twenty  Years  After. 
Dr.  Basilius. 

The  Twin  Captains. 
Captain  Paul. 

Memoirs  of  a Phy- 
sician, 2 vols.  (is. 
each). 

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Maison  Rouge. 

The  Queen’s  Necklace. 
Countess  de  Charny. 
Monte  Cristo,  2 vols. 
Nanon. 

The  Two  Dianas. 

The  Black  Tulip. 
Forty-five  Guardsmen. 
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2 vols.  (is.  each). 
Chicot  the  Jester. 

The  Conspirators. 
Ascanio. 

Page  of  the  Duke  of 
Savoy. 

Isabel  of  Bavaria. 
Beau  Tancrede. 
Regent's  Daughter. 
Pauline. 

Catherine. 

Ingenue. 

Russian  Gipsy. 

The  Watchmaker. 

GERALD  GRIFFIN 
Munster  Festival. 


Published  by  George  Routledge 


The  Rivals. 

The  Colleen  Bawn. 

WM.  CARLETON. 

Jane  Sinclair. 

The  Clarionet. 

The  Tithe  Proctor. 
Fardarougha. 

The  Emigrants. 

N,  HAWTHORNE. 

The  Scarlet  Letter. 
The  House  of  the 
Seven  Gables. 
Mosses  from  an  Old 
Manse. 

By  V arious  Authors. 

Julie  de  Bourg. 

Lilias  Davenant. 
Soldier  of  Fortune. 
Compulsory  Marriage. 
Young  Prima  Donna. 
Stories  of  Waterloo. 
The  Divorced. 

Violet,  the  Danseuse. 
Kindness  in  Women. 
The  Old  Commodore. 
The  Albatross. 

Cinq  Mars. 

Zingra,  the  Gipsy. 

The  Little  Wife. 
Adelaide  Lindsay. 

The  Family  Feud. 
Nothing  but  Money. 
Tom  Jones. 

A Week  with  Mossoo, 
by  C.  Ross. 

Out  for  a Holiday  with 
Cook,  by  Sketchley. 
Sterne’s  Works. 
Mountaineer  of  the  At- 
las, by  W.  S.  Mayo. 
Reminiscences  of  a 
Physician. 

Mysteries  of  Udolpho. 

Complete  Edition. 
Log  of  the  Water  Lily 
in  Three  Cruises. 
Through  the  Keyhole, 
byj.  M.  Jephson. 


and  Sons. 


4 


SIXPENNY  NOVELS. 


By  Capt.  MARRY  AT. 

Peter  Simple. 

King's  Own. 

Newton  Forster. 

Jacob  Faithful. 

Frank  Mildmay. 
Pacha  of  Many  Tales. 
Japhet  in  Search  of  a 
Father. 

Mr.  Midshipman  Easy. 
The  Dog  Fiend. 

The  Phantom  Ship. 
Olla  Podrida. 

The  Poacher. 

Percival  Keene. 
Monsieur  Violet. 
Rattlin  the  Reefer. 
Valerie. 

By  J.  F.  COOPER. 

The  Waterwitch. 

The  Pathfinder. 

The  Deerslayer. 

Last  of  the  Mohicans. 
The  Pilot. 

The  Prairie. 

Eve  Effingham. 

The  Spy. 

The  Red  Rover. 
Homeward  Bound. 
Two  Admirals. 

Miles  Wallingford. 
The  Pioneers. 
Wyandotte. 

Lionel  Lincoln. 

Afloat  and  Ashore. 
The  Bravo. 

The  Sea  Lions. 

The  Headsman. 
Precaution . 

Oak  Openings. 

The  Heidenmauer. 
Mark’s  Reef. 


Ned  Myers. 
Satanstoe. 

The  Borderers. 

Jack  Tier. 

Mercedes. 

SirW.  SCOTT. 

Guy  Mannering. 

The  Antiquary. 
Ivanhoe. 

Fortunes  of  Nigel. 
Heart  of  Midlothian. 
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Waverley. 

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Kenilworth. 

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Old  Mortality. 

Peveril  of  the  Peak. 
Quentin  Durward. 

St.  Ronan's  Well. 

The  Abbot. 

The  Black  Dwarf. 
Woodstock. 

Anne  of  Geierstein. 
The  Betrothed. 

Fair  Maid  of  Perth. 
The  Surgeon's  Daugh- 
ter, &c. 

The  Talisman. 

Count  Robert  of  Paris. 
Red  Gauntlet. 

By  Various  Authors. 
Artemus  Ward,  his 
Book. 

Artemus  Ward,  his 
Travels. 

Nasby  Papers. 

Major  Jack  Downing. 
Biglow  Papers. 
Orpheus  C.  Kerr. 
Robinson  Crusoe. 


Uncle  Tom’s  Cabin. 

Colleen  Bawn. 

Vicar  of  Wakefield. 

Sketch  Book,  by 
Irving. 

Sterne's  Tristram 
Shandy. 

Sentimental 

Journey. 

English  Opium  Eater. 

The  Essays  of  Elia. 

Notre  Dame. 

Roderick  Random. 

The  Autocrat  of  the 
Breakfast  Table. 

Tomjones,  vol.  i. 

vol.  2. 

Queechy. 

Gulliver’s  Travels. 

The  Wandering  Jew 
(TheTransgression ) . 

(The  Chastise- 
ment). 

(The  Redemp- 
tion). 

The  Mysteries  of  Paris : 
Morning. 

Noon. 

Night. 

The  Lamplighter. 

The  Professor  at  the 
Breakfast  Table. 

Last  Essays  of  Elia. 

Hans  Breitmann. 

Biglow  Papers,  2nd  ser. 

Josh  Billings. 

Romance  of  the  Forest, 
by  Mrs.  RadclifFe. 

The  Italian,  by  ditto. 

Mysteries  of  Udolpho, 
by  Mrs.  RadclifFe, 
vol.  1. 

vol.  2. 

The  Shadowless  Man. 


Published  by  George  Routledge  and  Sons. 


5 


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A Series  of  the  most  Popular  American  Works , in  fancy  cover s,  is.  each . 


Messrs.  George  Routledge  & Sons  are  my  only  authorised  London 
Publishers. — (Signed)  Mark  Twain. 


By  MARK  TWAIN. 

The  Celebrated  Jumping  Frog. 
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Roughing  It  (copyright). 

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right). 

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(copyright). 

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a Preface  by  Tom  Hood. 

Bret  Harte’s  Poems  (complete). 
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Maum  Guinea,  by  Mrs.  Victor. 
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to  the  Death  of  the  Body — Immortality 
of  the  Intelligent  Principle. 

TIE.  BOOKE’S 
U ANTI-LANCET. 

The  Nervous,  rhe  Dyspeptic,  or  the 
Hypochondriac  should  read  the  Chapter 
on  the  Origin  of  all  Diseases  from  De- 
pression of  Nervous  or  Vital  Power— 
How  explained— Producing  or  Exciting 
Causes  of  Nervous  Depression — Effects  of 
the  Mind  on  the  Body — Effects  of  Exces- 
sive Joy — Anger — Grief  and  Suspense — 
Sudden  Surprise  and  Fright — Hard  Study 
— Hot  Relaxing  Fluids — intemperance  in 
Eating  ail  d D rin  k i n g — S pirituous  Liquors 
— Loss  of  Blood — Impure  Air. 


m 


EOOKE’S 

ANTI-LANCET. 


Read  the  Chapter  on  the  Destructive 
Practice  of  Bleeding,  illustrated  by  the 
cases  of  Lord  Byron,  Sir  Walter  Scott, 
Madame  Malibran,  Count  Cavour,  Gene- 
I ral  “ Stonewall”  Jackson,  and  other  pub- 
! lie  characters. 


IP 


KOOKE’S 

ANTI-LANCET. 


All  who  wish  to  preserve  health,  and 
thus  prolong  life,  should  read  Dr.  Rooke’ s 
Anti-Lancet,  or  Handy  Guide  to  Do- 
mestic Medicine,  which  can  be  had  gratis 
from  any  Chemist,  or  post  free  from  Dr. 
Rooke,  Scarborough.  Cocerning  this 
hook,  the  late  eminent  author,  Sheridan 
Knowles,  observed  : — “It  will  be  an  in- 
calculable boon  to  every  person  who  can 
read  and  think” 


IP 


BOOKE’S 

ANTI-LANCET. 


A clergyman,  writing  to  Dr.  Rookf, 
under  date  July  15th,  1874,  speaking  of  the 
Anti-Lancet,  saysi—^fM  its  style  and 
matter  I can  judge,  for  I have  been  an 
author  on  other  themes  for  thirty  ye a>*s. 
None  but  a master-m  : ad  amongmen  could 
have  conceived  or  written  your  introduc- 
tion. It  is  the  most  perfect  delineation  I 
ever  read  of  the  human  frame,  and  tile 
lir.ks  between  the  material  fabric  and  the 
spi  ritual  unison  of  body  and  soul.” 

TIE.  EOOKE’S 
" ANTI-LANCET, 

OR,  HANDY  GUIDE  TO  DOMESTIC  i 
MEDICINE,  can  be  had  gratis  of  ail  j 
Chemists,  or  post  free  from  Dr.  Rooke, 
Scarborough. 


IP 


BOOKE’S 
ANTI-LANCET. 

Ask  your  Chemist  for  a copy  ( gratis ) 
of  the  last  Edition,  containing  172  pages.  (| 


